


Dirty Mind

by vodkabite



Series: Dirty Mind/Kiss Land [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha Nicole Haught, Alpha Purebred Nicole Haught, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Curse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Billionaire Nicole Haught, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, CEO Nicole Haught, College Student Waverly Earp, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Erotic Massage, F/F, Finger Sucking, Floor Sex, G!P, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Ice Play, Inspired by 50 Shades of Grey, Knotting, LOTS AND LOTS OF WORLDBUILDING, Light BDSM, Lingerie, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Masturbation, Omega Waverly Earp, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Riding Crops, Rimming, Rutting, Sex for Favors, Slight Royalty AU, Smut, Suit Kink, Tattooed Nicole Haught, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Ward Earp is Alive, Ward Earp is a Good Father, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-01-29 03:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkabite/pseuds/vodkabite
Summary: It was a business transaction; an exchange of money for services.All Waverly had to do was stay with the alpha for the duration of their rut while the wife was away on a business trip. Keep them company, attend a few functions and by the end of the night,sleep with them.That's it. The alpha will be satisfied, and she'll have her college tuition paid off in time for the next semester.It was supposed to be a simple business transaction, until it wasn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's liked my stories, gave kudos, commented, bookmarked and subscribed.  
> Any questions or prompts? Send them to me on [Tumblr](http://vodkabite.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title and major inspiration for this fic comes from [Boy Epic's "Dirty Mind"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q6g6ryLYoQ0), a gorgeously sexy video that really sets the tone for this 50 Shades of Grey-esque fic. Lyrics at the top of the fic are from [The Weeknd's "Kiss Land"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RowwEFGBZ4) which fits the story as well.
> 
> I've also set up a [Pinterest Board](https://www.pinterest.com/vodkabite/fic-series-dirty-mindkiss-land/).

_You can meet me in the room where the kisses ain't free  
You gotta pay with your body_

          — “Kiss Land” by The Weeknd

 

 

Purgatory is a small town tucked away into the country side of Alberta, Canada. Shouldered between the mountains, a few miles off the Trans-Canada Highway. The town, despite its name, isn’t as conservative as one would think. Thankfully, it was progressing into the future instead of being trapped within the mold of old traditions. Gone were the bible belt idealism of nuclear homes behind white picket fences and mandatory attendance to the nearest church, lest you be condemned as an outcast and branded with the mark of a sinner on your forehead. No, Purgatory is a quaint little town with a bright future ahead of itself.

A college town, home to Ghost River University and its immensely loyal community; everyone, young and old, turn out for the home games. Painted in the school’s red and black colors, wearing replica jerseys, cheering at the top of their lungs whenever their treasured team scores a point. Mom and pop stores nestled against the more commercial ones, a place where the houses are moderately priced, and everyone knows each other.

Suburbia at its finest.

Waverly Earp called Purgatory her home.

Born and raised here, the smell of oak, pine and her father’s favorite brand of whiskey, an ever-constant scent that only meant comfort and security. Her sisters’ daily battle for supremacy an entertaining show over dinner and her aunt’s famous rum pumpkin pie, tethers that kept her grounded whenever things got rough. Memories of being that bright-eyed little girl with her nose in the books and her head in the clouds, chasing after Wynonna across the yard and being chased herself, by a fuming Willa.

If only her family knew of the woman she’d grown into.

At twenty-one years old, Waverly Earp is an educated college student working towards her master’s degree in English language and literature. An omega with dreams of stepping out of the monotonous grind that had become her daily life. Since she was sixteen, Waverly had spent every waking minute working; striving for a good life. That better life everyone swears you’ll have once you graduate from college.

But with the mounting debt from her student loans and Ghost River’s tuition going up once again since she enrolled, it seemed more and more like a far-off dream. She dreaded the ever-looming possibility that she would end up a college graduate working a menial job to make ends meet because she couldn’t afford the bills. Her father, Ward, worked as a sheriff’s deputy and made enough to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, nothing else. Wynonna and Willa were struggling to make their dream of owning a club in Calgary a reality and her Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis chipped in when they can, but despite running Purgatory’s favorite bar, they only made so much.

This is why Waverly currently sat in the passenger seat of her own car; her beloved candy red Jeep Wrangler, barreling down the road with her head against the window. Having the equivalent of a midlife crisis running through her mind while her best friend Chrissy Nedley, sat in the driver’s seat with a calm face. Head bopping along to _Hotline Bling_. Singing along to the song, even if just a little off tune. She looked so happy.

_So free._

No longer was she the same woman stressed over bills and expenses, pulling double shifts at the bookstore while her father worked tirelessly at the station. The tired woman who would always enter their sociology class with a large caramel hazelnut coffee and purposely drink straight from the cup in an attempt to wake herself up. Burnt taste buds be damned.

In her place, is a self-assured twenty-two-year-old with a warm smile; the heavy burden that was once weighing down on her shoulders was no longer a problem. Waverly had been hellbent on finding out why her best friend had suddenly done a one-eighty and wasn’t knocked out in Professor Harris’ class anymore.

“Relax Waves,” Chrissy says with a little shimmy, intended to make the smaller woman lighten up. “It won’t be so bad.”

Waverly scoffs, anxiety gnawing at her insides. “Easy for you to say, you already got your tuition and student loans paid off.”

“And you will too by the end of the week.”

“Yeah, _after_ I sleep with the alpha.”

There it is.

The reason why she’s nervously fiddling with her seatbelt and can’t control her racing heartbeat. Slowly struggling to breathe the further they drove down the road.

Like something out of a poorly written porno, here she was, on her way to being whored out to some rich alpha for the duration of their rut in exchange for her debts to be settled in time for the next semester. Essentially a better, easier life where she didn’t have to worry about whether or not she’d be able to have lunch one day and not the next. Much like Chrissy who was now able to freely work at the bookstore and afford the things she wants without any sacrifices; the white cashmere sweater she wore is enough evidence of that.

Waverly sighs as the evergreen trees that surrounded her little town slowly disappear, dwindling to nothing as they always did whenever she drove into the city. But, she wasn’t going to Calgary.

She was heading towards Remus Pointe.

Remus Pointe, the affluent gated community for the rich and famous this side of Alberta. A thirty-minute commute from Calgary, Remus is considered by many to be this little slice of heaven. The air is cleaner there, the grass greener, water a crystal-clear blue; an oasis in the middle of the derelict wasteland that was the region.

Waverly had seen some students around campus that were from Remus. Students around her age with perfectly coifed hair and expensive clothing. The kind that was frequently featured on Instagram’s front page, the rich kids that were rich enough to be drunk on yachts in the summer and skiing off snow cliffs during winter. Know the taste of sweet teenaged bliss without having to watch their loved ones struggle and the helplessness that worms its way in as a result. Far too many times does Waverly remember being curled up on the couch as a child, reading _Harry Potter_ and hearing her father grumble to Curtis for what sounded like the hundredth time over some bill he couldn’t pay.

Looking over at Chrissy, Waverly softens. Admittedly, she’s been pretty unbearable to deal with as of late and couldn’t help the look of disgust and shame she sometimes gave the beta. But she understands why Chrissy took the opportunity of making life just a little easier. For herself and her father.

Who wouldn’t?

The front gates of Remus Pointe are in view and Waverly can only stare in awe.

The wrought iron fences surrounding the community are strong and durable, enhancing the separation between the world inside the community and outside of it. Punctuated by the thick limestone columns and the guards that stand at the entrance like soldiers. Chrissy pulls the jeep up and they halt her with the raise of a hand. One of them leaves his post and walks around to the driver’s side. The coldness in his voice as he asks for their license, registration and their purpose for even daring to step foot on their land, unnerves Waverly.

Everything gets confirmed by a few series of calls made on their walkie-talkies and soon, the gates open with a menacing hiss. Not unlike that of a rattlesnake preparing to strike. The guards step aside and let them through, regarding the women with tight-lipped smiles as if they can smell the lack of wealth to their names and are trying hard not to be repulsed.

“Who exactly did you fuck again?” The omega whispers with a hiss once they were out of earshot.

“A very generous alpha, who just so happens to be a bit of a blue blood.”

“Just how _blue_ are we talking here?” She asks as she spots a man in a polo shirt and crocodile-skinned loafers walking his poodle. Even the dog’s collar is adorned with a set of jewels only a thief and a queen would love.

Waverly’s heart is beating against her ribcage like a drum the further they drive into the community. The houses are larger than anything she could have ever imagined. Unrepentant and gorgeously massive, each one straight out of an architect’s wildest dream. Such grandeur only Jay Gatsby would adore.

But when Chrissy finally pulls into someone’s driveway, the omega is left awestruck. A colossal mansion by any standard—on some level the designers clearly took inspiration from the Palace of Versailles, fortified by their ambition to recreate it for the modern age. The intimidation she feels is solidified when she steps out of her jeep and comes face to face with a Lamborghini. It’s matte black paint job is fresh, shimmering gloriously under the midday sun.

_This is really happening,_ the brunette thinks in disbelief. Duffel bag in hand as she stands in front of the mansion she’ll call home for an entire week.

A young man, well-groomed and lanky in build steps out of the large mansion. He smiles pleasantly at them, wearing the sharpest charcoal vest and pants Waverly had ever seen. The only thing out of place was his Optimus Prime tie. Everything else is primed and proper, but his scent let’s her know that he isn’t the alpha. He’s an omega as well, and that provides some comfort.

“Chrissy, good to see you.” He grins with a boyish smile.

“You too Jeremy, working hard or hardly working?”

The man, named Jeremy, laughs. His whole body shaking as he does, and Waverly wonders just how easy it would be to topple him.

“Can’t say, it’s never a dull moment though.” He says before looking over to the smaller brunette. “And _you_ must be Waverly Earp. Right?”

“Yes.” She all but squeaks.

“I’m Jeremy Chetri, Nicole’s assistant.” He stretches out his hand for a shake and Waverly takes it.

“Nicole’s the alpha?” She asks. Chrissy never once mentioned the alpha’s gender, not that she has a problem sleeping with a woman—prefers it in fact—thing is, Waverly had never been with an alpha before. Of either gender.  But from what she’s heard of the females having a higher sex drive and more stamina, the brunette feels like she’ll be bent over in every position imaginable without reprieve.

“Yes. But she’s currently in the shower, for now, the final paperwork will be done by her wife.”

_Excuse me?_ Waverly is dumbfounded. Just what weird, pseudo-threesome mess did her best friend get into and the brunette was currently becoming a part of? She looks to the taller woman, who immediately gives her a reassuring smile.

“You’ll love Shae, I swear.” She tries, but it doesn’t quell the anxiety bubbling at the pit of her stomach.

Inside, the mansion is even more extravagant. Black and white sandstone with a generous splash of gold; the interior is castle-like in its décor and the omega soon learns why the color scheme fits the illustrious owners more so than anyone else.

Jeremy leads them into a large space that Waverly can only assume to be the living room. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling, furniture made from patented leather with a glossy finish. Nearby, through another entrance, the brunette spots a massive staircase made of marble. But the most telling feature, is the heraldic shield mounted above the fireplace. Carved into the stone is a shield with a triple-spiral, a triskelion or triskele, symbol. But instead of the usual, soft spiraling lines, they’re harsh with foot-like endings. Symbolizing moving forward, action and competition. An insignia like this could only belong to one of oldest families in Canada: the Haught Dynasty.

Their lineage goes as far back as the fourteenth century. A family of purebreds, most them were born alphas, with a few exceptions—betas. Astonishingly, there have only ever been _four_ omegas born under the Haught name in their entire history, the last one having been borne over a hundred years ago.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go see if they’re ready.” Jeremy points to the coffee table. “Please, help yourself to the champagne and sweets.”

With him gone, Waverly immediately rounds on Chrissy, smacking the woman’s arm.

“Seriously? How could you not tell me about this?”

“Because I knew that if I did, you would have never agreed to do it,” the beta says sheepishly. “I know it seems like a lot Waves, but really, it’ll help you in the long run when you can wake up in the morning and not have to worry about your loans.”

“You said you slept with a rich blue-blooded alpha, this goes far beyond blue! Like holy shit, Chrissy, you slept with the heir to one of the oldest dynasties in the country!”

“And you will too, and it’ll be great. Nicole is very gentle and knows what she’s doing.”

The omega wants to protest more but her best friend is busy gushing over the raspberry macarons. They’re tasty, surely, they look it, but she pours herself a bit of champagne. An old Earp remedy for literally everything; drink.

She expects the alpha— _Nicole Haught_ , to appear behind Jeremy, but it isn’t. Still, Waverly is just as surprised as to who comes down the staircase. Heels clicking against the marble steps, is a tall, bronze-skinned woman with dark chocolate-colored hair. Dressed beautifully in a silk blue maxi dress with a slit several inches above the knee. A beta by the scent and Waverly learns that this is Shae.

Shae Pressman, famous doctor and socialite, heir to the renowned political family. Her father is a former senator and was once in the running for prime minister, her mother a feared prosecutor and law professor at the University of Toronto and—Jesus, fuck… Waverly can’t do this.

She’s out of her depth here. Extremely out of her depth. This wasn’t just spending a week with some rich alpha during their rut, this is something else entirely. Her smile is blinding, and Waverly has to bite her cheek to keep from bumbling like an idiot.

“Hi, I’m Shae.”

“Waverly.” They shake hands and the brunette catches the scent of jasmine off the beta, rich and alluring. Her silver bracelet shining as she maneuvers around the omega to hug Chrissy.

“Before we sign the contract and solidify everything, I just want to say thank you.” Shae’s voice is soft. Warm. And It throws Waverly for a loop. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

_It really isn’t._ Months ago, Waverly would have assumed that most exciting and nerve-wracking thing to happen would be stopping a bar fight during one of her double shifts at Shorty’s. Yet, here she is, moments away from signing herself away to be some purebred’s toy for an entire week. Thankfully, her father, Wynonna and Willa believed that she would be spending the week at some convention in Edmonton, because if they were to ever find out, it’d be a catastrophe!

Nevertheless, Chrissy’s stress-free life reminds her why she’s doing this.

The freedom. The opportunity that she’d be able to graduate from Ghost River and never once have to worry about her student loans coming back to haunt her; bringing a little ease to her life and her family’s.

“I-It’s no trouble at all.”

It was then, striding down the staircase and into the living room, movements graceful as they are smooth, that she first sees her.

Waverly didn’t know what she was expecting, at this point nothing could surprise her anymore. Until, with all the swagger and confidence most people wish they had a fraction of, Nicole Haught reveals herself. Dressed in nothing but a silk black bra and a towel wrapped around her waist, hanging impossibly low on her hips. Body, lean and incredibly fit, diamond cut definition along her stomach framed by the sculpted v-line of her hips. She had just gotten out of the shower, skin wet and glistening in the light. Auburn hair messy and perfect with several strands falling dangerously over a pair of bright, honey-golden eyes.

“Boss,” Jeremy’s voice breaks the short silence, “this is Waverly Earp.”

Nicole’s step is measured, careful as she approaches her. Hand raised tentatively, and the brunette steps forward to shake hands with the alpha. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Waverly.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I just want to say thank you to everyone for the absolutely massive support the first chapter received. I was definitely not expecting that. Thank you to everyone who's read, commented, bookmarked, subscribed and left kudos. Even with the apprehension of this story being influenced by _Fifty Shades of Grey_ , it truly means a lot to me and got me to post this second chapter.
> 
> Please, enjoy.

At that exact moment, six o’ clock on the dot, the sun climbs over the skyline of oaks, peeking precariously over the roofs decorating the houses of Remus Pointe. The sky colored with shades of red, orange and yellow; a fiery greeting that warms over the community delicately. Birds chirping softly in the background, joined by the sound of neighbors either going for their early morning runs or heading out to work. Even the howl of Bobo Del Rey’s German Shepard can be heard from several houses down.

A common occurrence as Nicole wallows in the confines of her office, the result of another sleepless night. But this time her insomnia isn’t due to another late-night talk with investors, partners, planning schedules with Dolls, bookkeeping with Jeremy or being bored to death by her father’s constant reminders. No, the cause of her sleepless night is thanks in part to her obsessively reading and rereading the contract that now bonded Waverly Earp and herself together.

And the other, falls squarely on her alpha side keeping her up with mindless whimpers and growls.

With a groan, Nicole flips through her version of the contract dutifully, as if she hadn’t already done so the past seven hours.

 

> _The fundamental purpose of this contract is to ensure that both parties acknowledge the terms and conditions of this arrangement. The primary purpose is companionship during the duration of Ms. Haught’s rut in exchange for a disclosed amount of money, as discussed between parties._
> 
> _However, upon signing of the contract, both parties are aware that sexual contact (in any shape or form) is acceptable and must adhere to the acts listed below. As such, the contract also allows the Beneficiary to explore her sensuality and limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits and well-being._
> 
> _Ms. Haught and the Beneficiary agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures may be agreed in writing._
> 
> _Ms. Haught and the Beneficiary each warrant that they suffer from no sexual, serious, infectious or life-threatening illnesses including but not limited to HIV, Herpes and Hepatitis. If during the duration of the rut (as defined and tracked below) either party should be diagnosed with or become aware of any such illness must inform the other immediately and in any event prior to any form of physical contact between the parties._
> 
> _Adherence to the above warranties, agreements and undertakings (and any additional limits and safety procedures agreed to in writing) are fundamental to this contract. Any breach shall render it void with immediate effect and each party agrees to be fully responsible to the other for the consequence of any breach._

 

The only consequence Nicole feared was divorce.

A horrendously ugly word that hung over her head like a dark cloud every time her rut hit, and Shae wouldn’t be around to help see her through it. She dreaded it more than anything.

Compounded by the fact that it would be the result of her own biological failing.

“Your heart’s working normally. Physically, you’re in excellent shape Nicole; no diseases, no anomalies, no signs of any problems to speak of. Perfectly healthy.” The doctor had told her, placing the files in front of her while she restlessly laced her fingers with Shae. Anxious and tired. 

“The MRI results also came in—your brain is normal, and the size of your right and left amygdala haven’t changed. So, on a neurological level, you’re fine.”

“And mentally?”

As a purebred with a blood purity of over seventy-five percent alpha—fifteen percent beta and ten percent omega; undeniably rare in this day and age—Nicole is far more susceptible to certain illnesses than others and with her family history, these tend to lean more towards the psychological than anything physical. The possibility of losing control over her alpha side and going irredeemably feral, a constant worry _._ “Thankfully, the results of our evaluation indicated that there is no personality decomposition. Your diagnosis as AMS type-one, stands.” The news had filled Nicole with joy, but it didn’t quell her anxiety.

Many times, Dr. Anderson had suggested prescription medication to be used whenever she felt the alpha trying to grab more control. Nicole always refused. Remembering how bad her grandfather had become when he started taking them.

A strong and virile alpha, even in his old age, reduced to nothing more than a husk of a man. A shadow of his former self. His body had gotten used to them and eventually, he couldn’t function without them. Manic and depressed, whenever he missed a dose. On more than one occasion he became irrational and hostile, needing to be restrained like some sort of wild animal. A rabid dog off its leash looking for something to bite and maim. Towards the tail end of his life, things had gotten better. Probably because the old man knew he was on his way out and could finally rest easy.

The alpha in her paces around expectantly, thrashing against the walls of her chest. Keening desperately. Pathetically. She shakes her head and forces the beast back in its cage, where it belongs. And it does, snapping its teeth as it goes, threatening to return. It always did eventually. Whether in the form of her eyes turning a bright shade of red, teeth sharpening until fangs are poking into the flesh of her bottom lip. Nicole has left dents and claw marks into the wooden frame of her desk, here at home and at work, more often than she cares to remember.

As a purebred alpha, Nicole is built, right down to the marrow of her bones, to fight and to win.  _To dominate._ Endowed with certain advantages over others due to her bloodline and being borne of two alphas herself. For one, her sense of smell is sharper. Eyesight and hearing, stronger. She packs on muscle easily and has twice the oxygen in her bloodstream than a regular person’s. Near inhuman abilities at the cost of giving that animalistic side of herself more say.

It laid dormant most times, sleeping lazily like an overgrown mutt sprawled over a bed several sizes too small. But when it wasn’t, awakened by the slightest thing, it would howl and bark until Nicole appeased it. To the alpha, it is a punishing whim on Nicole’s part. A nasty, selfish twist of the knife into its chest every time she barred it from what it wanted. But even then, Nicole understood. She couldn’t blame that side of herself as much as she wanted.

Most spouses would jump at the sheer opportunity of getting to sleep with a pretty stranger and not deal with the repercussions of cheating; no yelling, no screaming, no fighting. It’d be a dream come true for someone in a sexless marriage. The freedom to fuck, no strings attached and still be able to come home. In a perfectly normal marriage, this would just be an errant sexual fantasy come to life. But Nicole is neither of those things. But the fact that she was currently going through sexual therapy—the entire reason as to why this arrangement even existed—is as much a hit to her own ego, as it is to the alpha’s.

A quick Google search lists sexual therapy as:  _a strategy for the treatment of sexual dysfunction when there is no medical etiology (physiological reason) or as a complement to medical treatment._  As an alpha, this is a sign of weakness and a complete affront to her sensibilities. Admittedly, Nicole wasn’t one to take the usual stereotypical assumptions of alphas as creatures of unadulterated sex drives and voracious appetites, (especially during their ruts) to heart. Good God no, she considered herself to be above that level of thinking. But the reality of the situation left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Nicole didn’t expect much when a copy of Waverly’s preferences had been given to her. Chrissy had been pretty vanilla in her tastes, with a slight desire to try her hand at being bound, gagged and whipped. Of course, Nicole didn’t deny the beta a chance to explore something out of her comfort zone; handled and executed well, it was an exhilarating experience for them both. How Chrissy enjoyed the crack of the whip against her back, painting her olive skin pink and red. Just as Nicole enjoyed the sight of it.

Unlike the majority of people who preferred to glorify and demonize sex to suit their own needs, the alpha embraces it wholly.

Sex, at its purest, is an art form.

Maybe it’s because she worked as a photographer on the side for fun; taking pictures of her subjects, naked and bare in simple positions that ultimately embraced the human form and its sensuality. Bodies wrapped in shadows, faceless and seductive. Or maybe it’s because she had spent the entirety of her youth slipping between any pair of legs that welcomed her in; a horny brat, rutting away without damned sense. Alcohol, pregnancy scares and angry parents—the tagline to Nicole’s teenaged years.

The redhead effectively learned her lesson from always thinking with her knot and letting her alpha side run wild just to satisfy its incessant desire to fuck something. Fond memories, now that she is happily married and the chances of her staring down the barrel of a shotgun is slim to none.

Still, she can’t help the strange feeling that swarms her chest as she runs her eyes over Waverly’s sexual preferences, for the hundredth time.

 

> **Acceptable Acts.**
> 
> The following sexual acts are acceptable, as per the party’s preferences:  _masturbation, fellatio, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal intercourse, rimming, anal fingering and anal intercourse._
> 
> Will the party accept semen swallowing?  _Yes._
> 
> Will the party accept the use of toys during sex?  _Yes._
> 
> The following toys are acceptable, as per the party’s preferences:  _vibrators and dildos._
> 
> Will the party accept bondage (the use of restraints) during sex, once discussed?  _Yes._
> 
> The following forms of bondage is acceptable, as per the party’s preferences:  _hands in front, hands behind back, hands above head, bondage by the use of handcuffs, and blindfolding._
> 
> Is the party interested in use of pain/punishment/disciplinary actions as a precursor to sex, once discussed?  _Yes._
> 
> The following types of pain/punishment/disciplinary actions as a precursor to sex, once discussed, are acceptable as per the party’s preferences: _spanking, whipping, the use of a riding crop and ice play_.

 

Waverly is as vanilla as they come. She’s a small-town girl, there isn’t much in the way of her agreeing to anything out of the usual norm. Eager to try and explore a part of her sexuality she can’t readily do so in a town where the usage of bondage of whipping is a hush hush secret behind closed doors. Where both parties have to hide themselves afterwards and practically repent for their “sinful ways”.

Nicole has no problem indulging Waverly, but fuck, does it stir something at the pit of her stomach.

Nicole shivers.

Heat settles within her chest, claiming the space between her lungs and heart. Like fire, hot and burning, it sears the flesh of her muscles until she gives way to it. Her pajamas are suddenly tighter and with that she’s putting the file back in its place.

Leaving the office hurriedly, Nicole heads up the marble steps of the staircase. Taking two at a time, three if she could help it. Heart beating rapidly, brows furrowed with sweat, cock suffocating down one pant leg—her rut has undeniably started. The silk material only has her growing harder by the time she reaches the top floor where the bedrooms are located. Worsening only when she passes by the guest room Waverly now calls hers for the week. Chrissy and Jeremy stayed the night, more so they wouldn’t have to make the trip back home in the dark and to keep the small brunette company; provide some comfort.

She’s practically running down the hall when she can make out the omega’s scent clearly. 

Distinctive like peppermint, and yet, undeniably floral. Reminding the redhead of a fresh breeze on the first day of summer.

When she arrives at her room, Nicole is throws herself on the bed; nuzzling into the comforter for warmth and stability. Shamefully readjusting herself when the pressure on her cock between her leg and the mattress becomes unbearable. Softly rutting into the bed to take the edge off while she hears Shae getting dressed in her closet.

Downstairs there’s the banging of wooden cupboards, rattling containers of tin and glass, the shuffling and sorting of metal pots and iron pans. An orchestra of sounds until the grand finale, a cake pan drum-rolling along the floor, and then hitting the table with a crash.

It’s Perry.

An artiste in the kitchen and on canvas, he’s usually quiet with his work. But the sounds of kitchen utensils being thrown virtually against the wall meant that he and Stephanie broke up.  _Again._  Nicole groans, despairingly. She’s got enough problems to worry about than ripping the man’s throat out because he can’t leave the girl alone, no matter how many times she breaks his heart. And by the scent of berries, powdered sugar and chocolate, he’s making crepes.

Bile and dread inches up her throat. She’s on her feet then, barreling into the bathroom at break neck speed, stripping her pajamas off and jumping into the jacuzzi.

It’s an absolutely maddening affair. Being pulled every which way like a rubber band, waiting for the snap back. Some days it felt easier to just give up. Take Dr. Anderson’s prescription and hope, that with enough luck, she wouldn’t turn into an empty shell. Nicole could see her father twisting his lips at the very idea.  _You’re an alpha, a purebred,_ he would say, a damning phrase,  _more than that you’re a Haught and we don’t accept defeat._

Nicole sighs and sinks beneath the hot jets of the marble tub. The whirlpool doing wonders on her aching body, yet, it does nothing to stave off her erection. Unbelievable. Twenty-five years old, CEO of an entire business conglomerate, crowned heir to a centuries old dynasty and yet, she feels like a teenager again. She runs her hands across her face. For fuck’s sake she’s married!

“Babe?” A warm voice calls, and Nicole pops her head out from under the water.

Above her, Shae sits on the edge of the hot tub. Dressed in a simple cashmere sweater, jeans and suede boots. She looks exquisite.

Oh, her sweet wife: Dr. Shae Juliette Pressman, a beautiful and intelligent woman that swept the alpha off her feet. College sweethearts, they met in the Dean’s office in preparation for a benefit and it was love at first sight. Within a year they were married in an extravagant affair that had both their parents jumping for joy, celebrating for days with glasses of champagne and an all-expenses paid ten-day trip to the Bahamas. How incredibly beautiful she looked walking down the aisle in her wedding dress and here she was, four years later, checking in one last time with the redhead before leaving for her trip.

“Hey baby, all set?” Nicole smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t want Shae to go, but she knows she has to. She’s already kept the woman from going twice because of her damned ruts, can’t be selfish anymore.

“Yeah, just came in to say goodbye.” The beta doesn’t want to go either. But she needs to. “Dolls is popping by in a few to take me to the airport and once Perry’s done in the kitchen he and Jeremy are taking Chrissy home before heading into the city.”

“That’s good ba—wait, I’m being left alone with the omega? So soon?” The redhead can’t keep the alarm out of her voice.

“Her name’s Waverly, although get used to calling her  _Baby_  while I’m gone. She’s going to have to get used to the idea of calling you  _Daddy._ ”

“Jesus fuck, who’s idea was it to let the Beneficiary come up with the names?”

“Yours. As well as the safeword. You said it would help with the disconnect and separate the sex from everything else. Make it easier.”

Easier?  _Nothing about this is easy,_  Nicole thinks bitterly. She’s essentially cheating on her wife. She’s an adulterer. Only difference is it’s under the guise of sexual therapy, the result of a medical condition she can’t control. Rationalized by the fact that the woman she beds at the end of each night for the duration of her rut will have her tuition and loans paid.

Waverly will be playing the role of a whore for the week and Nicole as the sleazy bastard paying for it. Quid pro- _fucking_ -quo!  

“It’s okay.” She says softly. “If there was another option, trust me I’d take it in a heartbeat, but this—I’m not going to run the risk of coming home and seeing you in that state again; I can’t see you go through another repeat of that night. I can’t.”

“Still, it can’t be easy for you.”

“It isn’t but I can at least take comfort in the fact that you’ll be fine with some sort of outlet and we’ll be helping a good woman get through college. Waverly has a good head on her shoulders, 4.0 GPA.”

“How nice.” Nicole deadpans. She receives a playful slap to the shoulder.

“Don’t think too much on it, okay? Just feel.”

The kiss to her cheek is soft, like velvet and the alpha purrs at the scent of jasmine she catches for a brief moment. An _I love you_ hidden beneath the press of Shae’s lips against her skin. Nicole smiles, even with the guilt burrowing its way into her bones the further her wife gets to the door.

_I love you too._

When Shae leaves, closing the bathroom door and then their bedroom door, Nicole slips back into a more comfortable position in the hot tub. For a moment, there’s peace. The sounds of the jets beneath the water, constant and lulling her into a false sense of tranquility that Nicole would have gladly fallen for. Alas, her alpha and more damning, her own body, reminds her of the hardened cock between her legs.

Her cock ached and burned, twitching against her taut stomach expectantly. She can’t ignore it, the inescapable pulse she felt in her shaft wouldn’t let her.

Nicole tilts her chin to the ceiling, eyes closed as she wraps her fingers around her cock. Moaning at the thrum of her pulse quickening, the rush of blood surging through her body at every stroke.

Breathing labored, the alpha pumps the shaft faster—the speed of her hand, the twist of her wrist—she won’t last long. Nicole can feel her thighs tense, toes tightening against the edge of the tub. Thumb swiveling over the head, pearls of precome wetting the pad. Her hips buck and her spine arches, hot tacks of want lancing through her back as she pumps the head vigorously.

“Oh, fuck,” Nicole pants, grabbing the edge of jacuzzi with her free hand. Hips jerking of their own accord chasing after her release.

It isn’t long until she finds it. Within moments, a hot band of come shoots across her chest, coating her breasts and the corner of her chin. The second and third spurts glazing over her stomach and down her shaft, melting into the water, now cold.

Nicole’s gut twists. Fuck, this was going to be a long week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> [Fanart by Czadrich](http://czadrich.tumblr.com/post/167494293416/dirty-mind-kiss-land-by-vodkabite-vodkabite) _CAN WE FIRST TALK ABOUT HOW AMAZING THIS IS?_  
>  Like damn dude, I am still in awe about it.  
> Hot, sexy, dominant, tattooed, half naked and in a towel alpha is the Nicole we need and deserve! A++++
> 
> Everyone please, give her blog a look, reblog and like this post as well as the others. You will not regret what you find!  
> 

Waverly awakes, slipping out of the haziness of sleep and takes her first real deep breath of the day. Hotwired, she first expects the smell of whiskey-spiked orange juice and burnt bacon. Accompanied by the spice of her father’s favorite brand of bourbon and the cloves of his Cuban cigars. The never-ending sound of her sisters at each other’s throats and her father grumbling about wishing for a single day of peace; the grand finale setting the tone of each morning. A staple in the Earp household.

She shoots up in bed as her brain registers the sweet scent of vanilla instead.

The quiet. The dead silence, save for the pounding of her heart beating endlessly against the walls of her chest.

She spent the entirety of the night restlessly tossing and turning, drifting helplessly in and out of sleep until her body finally gave in and her mind followed suit. Somewhat surprised the bed didn’t creak or cry out in misery every time she moved. But of course, it wouldn’t, it isn’t a beat down mattress with a few worn out springs. Instead, a king-sized monstrosity beneath layers of velvet soft sheets made from the finest Egyptian cotton. Pillows like fluffy clouds beneath her head, seamlessly shaping around the curve of her skull. The room is decidedly large: spacious, with a high ceiling and walls painted in a regal shade of white. Windows giving way to a gorgeous view of a rose garden outside with a massive fountain at the center decorating the front of the glorious mansion.

For a moment, she feels like royalty.

A princess, maybe even a queen. But a single glance outside the window tells her otherwise: the sight of her candy red Jeep Wrangler, more than a few years old with a couple of scratches and dents marring the paint job, parked in between a Lamborghini Aventador and an ivory-colored Rolls-Royce Wraith.

This isn’t real.

Nothing about this is real. She half expects it all to be some fever dream that’ll be over as soon as she wakes up. If only she were that lucky.

With a sigh, the brunette heads into the bathroom to officially start the day.

Much like the rest of the mansion, the bathroom, even for a guest, is an extravagant sight to behold. White and gold dominates the décor; outfitted with dark mahogany dressers and alabaster marble tops, large oval-shaped mirrors seated atop of them, a lounge chair is set up against the wall by the bathtub. Amazingly, the shower is separate, its own enclosure encased in glass from the ceiling to the floor.

Beneath the hot spray of the water, the pulsating jet hitting against the aching apprehension between her shoulder blades, Waverly is taken back to last semester. Tired and exhausted from another long shift at Shorty’s while trying fruitlessly to stay awake in class. Her sociology professor droning on and on about older, cultural ideologies that placed alphas on pedestals while the rest were practically forced into being subservient to them. His lecture lulling her to sleep until her forehead hits the desk and a sheet of loose-leaf paper hilariously sticks to her face.

An outdated concept: alphas are scientifically proven to be the “perfect embodiment” of our genealogy, and as such, it is absolute sacrilege to have an alpha glance your way and  _not_ glance back. Thankfully, such ideas have long been debunked by those with actual scientific backing. Sure, alphas are the ones commonly stereotyped as strong and virile, but findings as far back as sixty years ago have revolutionized the notion that everyone is the same as the cliché cookie cutter molds society desperately tries to have ingrained into us since childhood.

Born to lead and control, written in the fibers of their DNA, alphas were always portrayed as having positions of power. And yet, whenever there is one in command, a beta or an omega isn’t too far behind them. History books are filled to the brim with stories of alphas going made and waging war at the slightest upset. Sometimes at the behest of their mate. Sometimes because they were offended by another. Competition and bloodshed is strife, but not always at the hands of some snarling alpha looking to establish dominance.

There are stories of betas leading coups and usurping their kings like Catherine II of Russia and omegas starting revolutions, Napoleon being one. Unsung heroes leading the way and dismantling the social order between the three types. Most tales were probably exaggerated over time—it is still hotly debated on the validity of Genghis Khan, the great omega warlord and founder of the Mongol Empire, fathering 0.5% of the world’s current population—but alas, they are still based in truth.

In fact.

And yet, alphas are the ones that are highly sought after by the general public. Creatures of unadulterated sex drives and voracious appetites, especially during their ruts. How an alpha’s own personality, separate from the human’s is commonly characterized as that of an animalistic brute and on some level,  _everyone_ strives to soothe and tame like something out of a cliché romance novel.

Waverly never held much stock in alphas. Growing up with two older alpha sisters and witnessing their constant battle for supremacy day in and day out was not worth the trouble. The brunette had paid her dues to the universe by stepping between them when things were seconds away from exploding; getting caught in the crossfire, she rarely came out unscathed.

And yet, the universe must have thought otherwise of her daily sacrifices of trying to keep the peace at home when her father was busy at work to too tired to deal with his daughters’ constant one-upmanship, because here she was, twenty-one-years old, signed away to be some alpha’s toy in exchange for the chance at financial freedom and an easier life. But not just an alpha, oh no, the universe and whatever supreme being laid in wait up above, graced her with the privilege of being a purebred’s whore. The heir to the oldest dynasty in the goddamn country!

She wanted to strangle Chrissy for purposely failing to mention  _that_ specific detail. Would’ve done so too if the alpha’s impossible gorgeous wife didn’t step in and take the moment to show Waverly around the mansion and ultimately the room she would call home for the week.

Chrissy stayed over at Shae’s behest and her best friend, overjoyed, gladly took up residence in the guest room next to the omega’s. But for most of the night the beta stays in Waverly’s room, hopping on the bed cheerfully and roughing up the pristine sheets like a child while Jeremy, the alpha’s assistant, happily remained off to the side. Smiling bright and warm as he and Chrissy chatted up a storm, catching up and getting to know a bit more about Waverly. Provided with what she was willing to reveal about herself.

Because really, what amount of privacy did she even have anymore?

None.

Not when she suffered through the embarrassment of having her sexual likes and dislikes, written on paper in black and white, known now to more than just herself. Christ, she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole when she signed the papers. Signature a cute little scrawl compared to Nicole’s perfect cursive, only to be matched by her wife’s before the contract was sealed away inside a manila folder to be sent off to their lawyers. The unreadable expression on Shae’s face as she gave one last glance at the list of acceptable acts, the subtle quirk of her brow as mouthed the word  _Daddy_  had Waverly going red within seconds. Cheeks inflamed when the alpha’s honey-golden eyes narrow and turn red for several heartbeats, the makings of a smirk gracing her lips.

The memory is enough to send Waverly out of the shower, turning the glass knob and shutting off the water. She towels off and heads out of the bathroom, hair dripping wet, her phone vibrates on the nightstand with a text message.

 

 _Chrissy (12:55 pm)_  
_Hey Waves! Sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up_  
_Had to head back home and Jeremy was nice enough to offer me a ride_  
_Hope you like the crepes Perry made_  
_He’s an awesome chef and a really good painter too._

 

Waverly sighs.

She adores Chrissy like the calm, bright, cheerful and amazingly patient sister she’s never had, but dammit she didn’t want to be left alone with the alpha so soon!

 

 _Chrissy (12:56 pm)_  
_We still up for tomorrow?_  
_And don’t forget to have fun with Nicole!_  
_;)_

 

She types a quick message back, assuring the beta that they’ll meet at the Gardner Library in the morning for a quick study session before class starts. Waverly rereads the text before putting the phone back on the nightstand to get dressed. She can only imagine how strange it’ll be sitting in class after tonight.

Putting on a pair of high-waisted jeans, a burgundy sweater with Ghost River University’s logo printed on the front and matching suede boots. Simple and casual. Waverly didn’t want to run the risk of appearing a little too dressed up (or was it dressed  _down?_ ), and hopefully the outfit was to the alpha’s liking. All that was needed to complete the ensemble were gold bracelets.

If she could find them.

Waverly isn’t as scatterbrained as most, she took care to make sure everything was where it belonged and minimized her messes as much as she could. And yet, on her first day she loses something. Turning the room upside down searching for the damned accessory, ready to give up until—“Meow,”—she spins around and finds her bracelet in the mouth of an ungodly creature.

A massive animal, orange with black stripes, sits precariously on the ruffled sheets of the bed. Bright green eyes stare unblinkingly at the omega. Tail wagging back and forth slowly, tauntingly, as if edging her on in order to give chase. It’s a cat obviously, but the detailed pattern of its fur and size makes it appear more like a miniature tiger than anything fluffy and domestic. Or friendly.

“Hey buddy,” Waverly tries in a voice reserved more for dogs, babies and an emotionally inebriated Wynonna. “Mind giving that back?”

The beast doesn’t move. Neither does the tail, slowing to a stop and curling around its hind legs.

She edges towards the cat tentatively. Fearing that it would either run off or attack her. “I need that bracelet, so if you could just…”

The cat tilts its head mockingly, before quickly hopping off the bed and bolting out of the room. Waverly chasses after the little terror, pretty sure that the universe was currently laughing at her expense. For a large animal, it moves surprisingly quick, bounding down the grand staircase easily; paws barely touching the marble steps.

“Damn cat,” Waverly huffs almost tripping off the last step, catching herself against a nearby wall. But it moves, and the omega jumps back when she notices that it wasn’t a wall but a framed photograph.

A 24x36 inch framed photo of a woman, black and white; hair done up into a tight bun at the top of her head, sunlight streaming through blinds, painting soft lines across her naked back, the supple curves of her shoulders and slender waist and hips. Body partly shrouded in darkness, and despite her face partly hidden beneath the shadows of the background and light of foreground, the come-hither look is unmistakable. The want and lust evident in the model’s mysterious eyes.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

Nicole appears standing beside her, appreciatively admiring the photo in a simple short-sleeve shirt and black and blue checkered pajama bottoms. Waverly is grateful the alpha is dressed this time and not parading around half-naked in a towel. Nonetheless, it doesn’t deter the omega from taking in the older woman’s appearance whilst she was distracted. Eyes traveling up the toned and fit arms, the tribal armbands inked into the skin curling around her left forearm, to the seven phases of the moon tattooed down the length of her bicep several inches above. The muscle firm beneath the smooth skin, tightening as she flexes for a split second. Upwards, Waverly finds the sharp lines of Nicole’s collarbone, the softness of her jaw, the dimples of her cheeks and the tiny mole seated at the corner of her eye.

But the most startling feature about the alpha is the unblemished skin of her neck. The  _unmarked_ flesh of her throat.

Nicole and Shae aren’t mated.

The omega in her shivers at the realization.

“One of my firsts, took me forever to get the lighting right.” The alpha says by way of greeting after moments of awkward silence, not looking at her and breaking the ice. Waverly feels relieved she didn’t have to be the one to do it. 

“One of my favorites as well, can’t imagine how many times I’ve sat on the stairs just staring at it.” Her words are said with reverence, an almost dreamy look in her honey-golden eyes and Waverly can’t help but nod her head. Imagining what it would be like to be captured in such a way for all eternity.

Nowadays everyone thinks they’re a photographer snapping pictures with their phones and adding a filter. But this? To be preserved in a photo of this magnitude, this style? Truly nothing short of magical.

“I can see why, it really is a beautiful piece.”

“There are others, if you’d like to see,” Nicole suggests. “Be advised, most of the models in the photographs don’t have clothes.”

Waverly arches a brow. “Uh… Was that a joke?”

“Not at all, most photographers have a specific subject they like to photograph. Some take shots of nature, or animals, I picked people.”

“Naked ones?”

Nicole smiles. A small laugh, sweet and deceptively smooth. Sheepishly, she runs a hand through her hair, ruffling it up into an impossibly perfect mess. “Yes, naked ones—come, you must be hungry.”

The brunette shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m fine.”

“Thirsty?”

“I’m alright, thank you though.”

Nicole tilts her head, honey-golden eyes bright and almost pleading like a puppy. “At least have one drink with me.”

“Alcohol?”

This time Nicole shakes her head. “I’m not much of a drinker, admittedly I’m a lightweight, closer to a middleweight mind you, but there are a few who will say otherwise.”

 _The big bad alpha purebred a lightweight?_  Hardly seems plausible. But Waverly indulges the redhead and follows her towards the kitchen. Feeling more than a little self-conscious. The heels of her boots clicking against the linoleum while Nicole’s footsteps barely make a sound. Much like everything else in the mansion, the kitchen is massive and nothing like the one she knew and loved back on the homestead. Modern and stylish, she doubts the stove has ever gone off the deep end and threatened to burn the house down or the microwave filling with smoke and burning food to a crisp.

Waverly gently takes a seat at the table, the top sleek and she can see her own reflection within the wooden finish.

“Coffee, tea or hot chocolate?”

“T-tea, tea is fine.” Waverly says, quietly berating herself for sounding so unsure. So small.

“Tea it is.”

Nicole fills a kettle with water and sets it to boil on the stove. Doing the same with a small pot filled with milk. She then sits down at the table.

“Waverly, I know this isn’t the most ideal situation for you and believe me, it isn’t for me either. But at the end of the week—the end of my rut, you’ll be paid, and I’ll be… Satisfied.” Nicole starts, sounding a little tortured. “I’m not going to keep you here as some prisoner, you’re free to come and go as you please, as long as you let me know for security reasons, but um, yeah.”

“And the sex?”

“The sex, well, the sex isn’t all that important.” Waverly doesn’t buy it. “It’s not like it’s expected of you to be wet and ready whenever I’m hard, or that we’ll be fucking every hour on the hour, that’s just unrealistic.”

“But we _will have sex,_ right? I mean it’s inevitable.” She hates the way it sounds coming out of her mouth, and by the slight wince of her words, Nicole does too.

“Eventually, we will.” Nicole sighs exasperated, wanting to be done with conversation about the contract.

That only piques the omega’s interest.

“So, how’s school?”

“It’s fine. Great even.”

And it is.

College is the best thing that could have ever happened to Waverly. Granted, Purgatory  _is_ a college town, but that isn’t to say she would have enrolled into Ghost River straight out of high school for sure. Like many other residents of the town, she could have skipped out on attending college and continued living life as her forbearers; working off the fat of the modern land, a regular job whether retail or not, up the corporate ladder. From minimum wage to as high as can go until she’s become bored enough to leave for another job or complacent enough to stay forever. Striving for that Canadian dream the way someone would without a college degree.

But alas, with some sacrifices, Waverly attended college straight out of high school. Given a partial scholarship that sadly couldn’t cover all the expenses. Leaving the brunette to work odd jobs here and there until she finally turned twenty-one and her Aunt Gus and Uncle Curtis were finally able to hire her. Since then she’s pulled double shifts at Shorty’s as often as she could. Careful to not let the job take priority over her studies.

All too often do college students forego their education and work at a job where the money seems endless and bountiful in the moment, only to be anchored by and the next thing they know they’re middle-aged and wondering where it all went wrong. Wynonna, had told her as much one afternoon in homestead’s basement. They were busting open storage boxes, searching for some old vintage gun that served as the Earp’s family heirloom. She and Willa wanted it to serve as the cornerstone of their nightclub. They had even named it after the gun:  _Peacemaker_. Upon finding it, Wynonna gets a little misty-eyed and tries hide behind her toughened exterior and blame the tears on something being caught in her eye, but Waverly knows.

She knows that finding the gun symbolized a long-held dream of hers. While some kids say they want to be astronauts, or cool James Bond-like spies, they grow up, changing those childhood dreams into something seemingly more achievable, like a doctor or lawyer. Not Wynonna. She always wanted to own a bar like Shorty’s in Calgary, the big city. And with Willa’s help, she is. But a hint of regret and frustration lies beneath the advice and threats of kicking Waverly’s ass if she ever gave up on college.

“Don’t you dare quit school, baby girl,” she would say, “don’t be like me and Willa struggling to get the club off the ground or like Daddy working as a sheriff’s deputy and risking life and limb every day. You know he’ll kick all our asses if he doesn’t see one us living in a big fancy house like some rich blue-blood by the time he kicks the bucket.” They aren’t kids anymore, playing Hungry Hungry Hippos on the coffee table, chasing each other outside around the barn or playing pranks an unsuspecting Willa. They’re grown ass adults with one too many stresses on their mind to  _not_ keep going.

One too many.

Being a college student bars that nightmare from becoming a reality. If anything, she’s a lot closer to it. Able to be free of the timeless curse that plagues most of the Purgatorians born within the Ghost River Triangle.

“I’ve got a presentation for my English 350 class coming up.”

“Oh, on what?” Nicole asks, standing and heading towards the stove.

“On, um, romance in literature. Specifically, the death of it.”  _Good God, I sound like such a nerd._ Waverly mentally groans.  _Or a pretentious hipster wannabe._

“The death of romance… Quite the topic, are there any specific texts you’ll be using?”

“A few, Romeo and Juliet and The Great Gatsby so far. My professor wants the presentation to be a preview of what our dissertations will be like.”

“Good choices, if I may make a suggestion—how many sugars?—Macbeth would also do great alongside those two.”

“Three sugars, please—and Macbeth isn’t really a romantic story. More political.”

Nicole turns around from the kitchen counter and places the cup of tea in front of Waverly with an amused face, sitting back down across from her with her mug of hot chocolate in hand. “Oh but it is, sure on the surface it’s a tragedy about the damaging physical and psychological effects of political ambition, but it’s romantic as well.”

“How do you figure?” Waverly is more than a little intrigued and impressed. Her omega purring in delight.

“Well, take the relationship between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. I’ve always believed that while the power balance between them was shifted more towards her, that they loved each other equally. A love that may border on just the need to further themselves politically, is still love. Albeit, a destructive one. Why, the most passionate people are usually the ones willing to go to hell and back.”

“True, but they ultimately get done in by their own selfishness.” Waverly takes a sip of her tea. She tastes chamomile with a hint of honey: her favorite.

“Love  _is selfish,_ don’t you think? Who cares about morality when the love of your life is your everything?” Nicole says, "It can also be said that they were mates."

“Same as Romeo and Juliet. Killed by their own lusts and they were just teenagers.” The alpha continues.

“An idealistic tale of star-crossed lovers; not as romantic as most people would think since they practically seduced each other with glances and a few words.” Waverly feels a little breathless, she can’t remember the last time she had such an intelligent discussion outside of a classroom or lecture hall. “Hardly the best example of love. More like seduction.”

“All it takes to fall in love is a little seduction, darling.”

Nicole’s voice is impossibly smooth like silk, eyes turning red for several heartbeats before settling back to their usual gold.  _Seduction must be easy when the world is at your feet,_  Waverly thinks cynically. Normal people don’t seduce or get seduced. Much less in Purgatory where everyone knows each other since childhood and relationships are formed because of that familiarity. In high school, hormones are all over the place and puberty turns people into horny mutts. College is a bit different. Dating is a bit more nuanced, the skills you learned in high school, more refined. Still, inhibitions come down after a couple of drinks at party as it would during high school when someone’s parents were gone for the weekend.

“Anything can be seductive, why something as simple as choking can be seductive based on a well-founded and established context.” Nicole says over the rim of her mug.

Waverly shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. Not love letters, poems or even chocolates— _choking._ Christ.”

“Like I said, well-founded and established context.” Nicole shrugs.

“So, tell me, what’s so seductive about choking?” The brunette bites the inside of her lips, pretty sure that this was the alpha’s ploy in letting her know what she likes in bed.

“Submission. Being in control is fun, but letting someone else take the reins is fun too. The freedom to not think and just feel, to let yourself be played and used by someone else. Letting something as essential as breathing be in the hands of another, it’s more about trust than anything else.” The alpha licks her lips.

Waverly feels brazen. “So, what would you do if I choked you?”

A beat.

“Moan.”

Jesus Christ.

“Is there anything else about your sexual proclivities that I should be aware of, because…” Waverly doesn’t even know what to say next. “Because Jesus.” _Jesus fucking Christ._

Nicole shrugs nonchalantly.

“I’ve been told that I have a massive appetite, so there’s that.”

The brunette makes a face. “Massive appetite, what are you—”

Nicole licks her lips again. Deviously.

_Oh._

Oh no.

No.

No, no, no, no… Her heart starts to pound wildly against the walls of her chest. Palms suddenly slick with sweat, clammy and cold around the teacup. Fingers trembling, her entire body on the precipice of a cliff threatening to fall off at any moment. Biting the inside of cheek, Waverly struggles to keep from falling apart in front of Nicole. But with the taste of blood swelling around her teeth, the pain searing through the fear, the brunette feels faint. Heart ready to burst from her chest.

“We don’t have to do _that_ ,” She tries to keep her voice steady. Void of anything that isn’t calm or normal. “I-I mean if we have to it’s fine, I just—”

No. No, no, no, no… _No_ —

“Waverly.”

Nicole is crouched beside her, Waverly hadn’t even seen her get out of her chair. Honey-golden eyes bright with concern. She’s impossibly close, hand warm and soft on her wrist, thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. She smells like vanilla dipped donuts.

“Talk to me.” She presses, voice sweet.

“I’ve never, never,” the brunette takes a moment to breathe. “Never had anyone e-eat—”

The alpha quirks a brow. “Never?”

Waverly shakes her head.

“But on the contract, you—Chrissy said that you’ve had boyfriends before, even a girlfriend at one point and you… _Never?”_

Waverly shakes her head again, a little more than ashamed.

“Did something happen to you?” Nicole growls. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No!” Waverly turns away, pulling her hands away from the alpha’s touch. “Nothing like that, it’s just…”

She doesn’t know why this is happening. The omega had never even told her best friend about this, but here she is about to tell a complete stranger. And maybe that’s why the next few words come out so easily. Some part of her wanting to live in the reality of a world where this secret isn’t something to hold so close to the chest. Like Nicole had said before, they are strangers to each other and by the end of the week, that’s all they’ll ever be. There are no niceties, no abundance of pity and sugar coating to spare her feelings as if it would had she told Chrissy.

“My first boyfriend Champ,” She begins. “He never went down on me whenever we had sex and then one day, I asked him why not and he said it was because it wasn’t his thing. I know it sounds stupid, because everyone has their likes and dislikes and things they’d be open to, but I’d always have to beg and plead with him.”

“Then he finally got over himself and got around to it, but he always treated it like it was something he had to do to be a man. Eventually we broke up, because I realized that he was an all-around asshole and finally realized what everyone was telling me all throughout high school, but sex…” Waverly shudders at the memory, fingers playing with the handle of the cup. “Sex, was never the same. Or was it? Everyone after him, they were nice. A lot better than him. But I just couldn’t do it, it never felt right and then I overheard some girl at party who hooked up with him and—is it me? Am I that bad?”

Nicole doesn’t say a word and Waverly wants to sink beneath the floorboards.

“I-I sound shallow, don’t I?” Waverly asks softly. Small and insignificant. “He said I was.”

Several moments of silence pass before Nicole suddenly stands. Her full height towering over Waverly, pupils dilated until the gold of her eyes is nothing more than a ring of fire. Shifting until the irises are a bright penetrating red, rich and deep—a purebred alpha’s true self. Waverly is a deer in headlights waiting to be devoured, until Nicole outstretches a hand.

“Come with me.”

Waverly stares at the hand, not comprehending what exactly is happening. But she takes the hand anyways, her omega nudging her forward with a simple _Go._ Nicole’s hand is warm, smooth as she leads the brunette out of the kitchen and down a different corridor from before.

The alpha doesn’t let go, and neither does she.

“I won’t lie, I’ve been around the block one too many times as a teenager. My youth was a haze and quite frankly, there are parts of it I don’t exactly remember all too well.” The redhead says seriously. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all those mindless years, is that the human body is a beautiful thing.”

“That’s why my models are always either half-naked or completely so; far too often people demonize and glorify sex, but rarely is it ever celebrated. People make it dirty with their selfishness and disrespect, Champ being one of them.”

They come to a stop in front of large two-paneled doubled doors, black with a glossy finish, door knobs made of solid gold. Much like the family symbol carved into the stone above the fireplace in the living room, the triple-spiral triskelion symbol is carved into the hardboard. Gold and outlined in silver, the symbol is made of soft, spiraling lines instead of the harsh foot-like endings that is synonymous with the Haught Dynasty. The insignia is easier on the eyes and with a deep breath, Nicole turns to face Waverly, eyes no longer red.

“Now before we go in, we need to go over the basic rules: firstly, what are our color signifiers and what do they mean?” She lets go of her hand.

“Green is okay, yellow stands for slow down and red means pause.”

“What is the agreed upon safeword to stop the session, should you feel unable to continue?”

“Unicorn.” The brunette swallows at the childishness of the word she picked.

“What is my name?” The alpha asks, unable to help the smirk that forms on her lips.

“Daddy.”

“What is yours?”

“Baby.”

Both hands on the door knobs, Nicole rolls her shoulders. “Finally: do you trust me?”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” The word is said quickly and firmly, not a shred of doubt that leaves Waverly stunned seconds after it’s said. Eyes drifting from the redhead’s back to the black doors ahead.

“Sex is art, Waverly.” Nicole says. “Sex is art and I’m going to prove it to you here.”

“Where is here?”

The doors open, and they step inside.

“My playroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are those that were turned off after Chapter 2 because of situation revolving around the contract and Nicole and Shae being in a loving marriage. That is quite alright. I would still like to say thank you to those that were turned off, but still left a review explaining why. Constructive criticism and opinions are important and I value both. It help me grow as a writer and I cherish them, more than you could ever know.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's liked my stories, gave kudos, commented, bookmarked and subscribed.  
> Feel free to visit me and raid my inbox on [Tumblr](vodkabite.tumblr.com). [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vodkabite1). _I'm on Twitter too now cause all the cool kids are there!_


	4. Chapter 4

It’s only when she’s left alone, naked and bare on the massage table, that Waverly takes in the room. Dominated by an array of dark colors: shades of red, black, white and a generous use of gold. Royal 19th century décor meshing delicately with a modern aesthetic. Admittedly, upon entering the playroom she is struck with war flashbacks of the time she wasted two grueling hours watching _Fifty Shades of Grey_. An absolutely horrid experience, worsened by the amount of overzealous joy from all the women around her every time Jamie Dornan did something supposedly sexy, go shirtless, chasing after the boring and hapless Ana; filling out the stereotypical dominant alpha with Armani suits and an annoying tendency to brood. There was a legitimate fear that her eyes would fall out of their sockets with the amount of rolling she did during the incredibly dull sex scenes; the dreamy moan she hears from Chrissy beside her accentuating the pounding pressure on her retinas.

Waverly practically had to be tied down to her chair to keep from running out of the theatre when everyone did a collective _oooh!_ when Christian Grey said he didn’t make love, he fucked. Hard. The brunette swears several women, including her own best friend, went into early heat during the film. She wrinkles her nose at the memory of being surrounded by a bunch of horny women, salivating like hungry dogs.

But unlike the medieval sex dungeon that had every red-blooded female begging for their own creepy dominant with commitment issues, Nicole’s playroom is pleasant and inviting. Soft and subtle; the lighting enveloping the room in a warm glow despite the dark colors. The walls and ceiling are deep, dark wine-color, the floor an old varnished wood of high-polished mahogany. An expansive iron grid is mounted onto the wall towards the far right, adorned with ropes, chains and shackles. Beneath it is a large glass display case with small LED lights lining its edges. Each shelf is home to an assortment of items mounted on display stands. From Waverly’s view she can make out a paddle, two whips, a riding crop, a set of floggers, several different pairs of handcuffs and various blindfolds neatly folded together. Tame compared to the bottom shelf where she gasps at the array of vibrators and dildos of countless sizes and shapes are located.

To the far left is a door with a silver doorframe, next to it is a bulky black chest of drawers, each one decked with golden knobs and a number etched into the wood above. In one corner of the room is an oxblood sofa with thick foam padded cushions, elegant button tufting on both the seat and backrest. A rich mahogany finish on the solid wood curved legs. Facing a set of televisions mounted in a corner, a wave of apprehension fills Waverly as to what purpose the TVs could possible hold.

But what dominates the room is a bed. Massive in size, able to fit at least five, six, maybe even seven people at once; garnished with an ornately carved four-poster with a flat top canopy above, shrouded in sheer red curtains. The mattress dressed in silk black sheets, red satin pillows decorated with soft white goose downed pillows at the head of the bed. At the foot, set apart by a few feet, is the massage table the omega currently laid on. An odd arrangement, but really, the entire room’s existence is a testament to the absurdity that has now become Waverly Earp’s life.

Compounded by the fact that she resembled an offering; a sacrificial lamb waiting to be devoured. Fitting, really. She is nothing more than a lowly omega, counting down the minutes, _the seconds_ before she’d be spread open and used like a toy. Not the most appealing image, but the brunette blames her European History professor for the dark thought. The man’s lecture on the Italian Renaissance and most importantly the reign of Pope Alexander VI and the Borgias being a prime example. Details on the corrupt papacy and its cardinals, even the pope himself, frequenting brothels and paying a hefty price for an omega to sleep with. Promising riches and a position of power for a virgin to deflower.

Waverly immediately tenses. Society has certainly changed since then, but it did nothing to ease her worry. If she felt out of depth before, this was something else entirely.

When you first look at Waverly Earp what do you see? You see a twenty-one-year-old college student with long hair and hazel-green eyes, a former cheerleader and class valedictorian, now a worn-out woman barely into her twenties with an insurmountable weight bearing down on her shoulders. Furthered by the sudden vulnerability of being exposed without a shred of clothing to cover herself; anxiety settles in easily with no façade for her to hide behind. Not when her only reprieve lies in the ability to hide her eyes against her forearm for a modicum of dignity.

Exhausted and filled with worry; her throat runs dry.

The air is thick with the anticipation of lightning.

 _This is all for a better future,_ she reasons with a deep, nervous breath. _For you and the family._

Waverly imagines just how easier everything would be at the end of the week. Going home and being thousands of dollars richer. _Freer._ A life where she’s able to work regular shifts at Shorty’s without wanting to grab Gus’ shotgun from under the bar and put it in her mouth. Staying awake during her sociology professor’s mind-numbing lectures. The freedom to walk into a store and not have to pinch pennies, mentally making sacrifices just to afford something.

Chrissy’s new life is enough proof of it. The expensive clothing in her closet weren’t bought off a clearance rack; her treasured cashmere sweater is worth more than an entire outfit of Waverly’s. The one time they’re days offs were miraculously synched up, the beta invited her to eat at some restaurant in Calgary, the kind where patrons had to follow a dress code and the maître d would all but spit at your feet should you request seating in jeans and t-shirt. The kind of restaurant where nothing on the menu was below twenty dollars.

Granted, Chrissy had saved up to try out the restaurant and take Waverly with her. Saved up a lot, to pay for the sheepish omega who spent the entire outing with her cheeks burning out of shame. Wishing she could just slip between the polished floorboards when the check came and had to concede to her friend’s wish to pay for the entire meal.

To this day, Waverly still doesn’t know how much Chrissy spent that day.

Then: “You can back out at any time, just say the safeword.”

Nicole appears from the doorway with the silver frame she had disappeared through earlier. Dressed in dark washed jeans with a firm fit through the thigh and straight from knee to ankle, fading and whiskering, five-pocket styling, the back pockets embroidered with the finest stitching. Possibly imported from someplace fanciful like France or Italy. The denim deliciously tight over the alpha’s insanely long legs, hanging low on her hips. The silver buckle of her leather belt glinting in the dim lighting, framed on either side by the v-line of her hips.

In her hands is a steel bowl, bronze in color. Nicole places it someplace behind where the omega can’t see.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the brunette says quickly, feeling more exposed now that her naked body is in full view of the alpha’s piercing gaze. Her face is flushed red with embarrassment.

“You’re not.” Nicole says seriously, voice even and leaving no room for discussion or denial. It forces Waverly to straighten her back. “I need you to be honest with me, understand?”

“Not exactly an easy thing to do,” Waverly retorts before she can reel the words back in. Omega snapping its teeth at her hip in warning, chastising her for such an act. She takes a deep breath, nuzzling her face into the crook of her arm and shielding herself from Nicole’s eyes.

“I know it isn’t—but trust me on this,” Nicole says. “That’s all I ask.”

Waverly dares a peek and sees the older woman turning on the TVs in the corner, each monitor showing a different hallway and room in the large mansion. Some part of her is grateful that those TVs didn’t hold any nefarious reason, but it only reminds her that the auburn-haired woman is beyond wealthy. High-end security for the rich alpha.

She then steals a glance at Nicole, tracing the lines of her triskelion tattoo on her back. Spirals shifting slightly over the muscle with each movement. A blush colors her cheeks and Waverly groans, hiding her eyes again. Damn purebred.

“Are you ready?”

The brunette nods, shoulders curling in further. She bites her bottom lip, teeth gnawing at the soft flesh. Harder, when she feels something silky run up her spine and across her shoulder blades. She doesn’t know, but she can feel Nicole looking at her then; golden eyes burning into her skin like a hot brand. Nicole gently lifts the younger woman’s chin, wrapping a blindfold around her eyes and tying a firm knot at the back of her head. The material, despite being soft against her skin, is thick and leaves Waverly partially blind. Only able to make out vague shapes.

“Of all the senses, we rely on sight the most. Remove it, and we are much freer. Our other senses are heightened in response.” Waverly’s arms are pulled out from underneath her head and towards the side, fingers instinctively curling around the edge of the table for support.

“We are more accepting,” the alpha’s fingertips ghost over the curve of her spine and along the lines of muscle in her back; a trail of goosebumps rising in their wake.

“More open,” the warmth of Nicole’s hands disappears from her back for a second before reappearing on her calves. Each stroke moving higher and higher on her legs, subtly spreading them until a rush of air glosses over her core. A heady rush of warm pleasure fills Waverly, her omega purring in delight as she tightens her grip on the edge of the massage table.

“More…” Voice trailing off, deepening as Nicole’s hands run over her thighs, fingertips dangerously close to grazing against the brunette’s waiting sex. _“Possessable.”_

Waverly groans as she feels hot almond oil drop slowly onto the small of her back, the slick liquid cooling upon contact with her stiff muscles. Heating up as Nicole’s hands—masterful and precise—rub oil into the brunette’s skin, working some of the more arduous knots out of her calves. Fingers skillfully digging into the muscle. Another groan escapes her lips, her omega easily getting swept away by the sweet sensations, broken only by the occasional unruly knot that the redhead works out effortlessly.

It isn’t long until the brunette starts to drift, slow and natural, following the deliberate pace of the older woman’s hands; rhythmically playing an unknown tune against her thighs. Tempo softening along the inside before massaging her ass. Waverly flinches, not expecting to be touched there. But each stroke of the alpha’s hands is a soft caress enveloping her body with a reverence that makes the omega flush several shades of red.

The hands travel up her back, finding purchase on her shoulders. Waverly’s stomach swirls with the intoxicating feeling of submission as she relaxes into the alpha’s touch. Each knot lined into the crevices of her shoulder blades unfurls beneath Nicole’s talented fingers. Her mind desperately trying to figure out the unknown song being played into her skin; each note driving her further and further into a state of bliss she didn’t know could even exist.

Two fingers trail up and down her spine before running along the curve of her shoulder and over her neck. Pulse coming to life as her omega whines with abject want.

“You have a lot of knots,” Nicole gingerly chasing down the kinks that keep Waverly from fully succumbing to the blissful relaxation intended for her. “That isn’t good for you.”

“Yeah well, there isn’t a lot of time for relaxation between school and work.” More almond oil is applied, cooling along the curve of her spine until it shines like porcelain. Each motion of the alpha’s hands makes Waverly shiver, back arching when Nicole presses into a particularly unruly knot at her waist. Drawing a startled gasp from her lips.

“Shhh…” Nicole whispers softly, expertly loosening the knot. “It’s alright baby, I’ve got you.”

Waverly moans quietly as more oil is finally dripped over the luscious curve of her ass. “Daddy’s got you.”

Divine fingers leave her boneless and floating on a cloud of the softest, smoothest cotton. Waverly couldn’t possibly protest even if she wanted to, not when the oil slips between her spread legs. Glazing over her heated core, a strange and yet exhilarating feeling. She couldn’t think, body melting as she feels Nicole dutifully work the muscles in her ass. Hands shaping them wonderfully before— _“Ah!”_ —a thumb glides over wet folds.

The brunette bites her lip, hoping to stave off any unwanted sounds. The skin of her bottom lip splitting beneath her teeth as the alpha’s thumb circles her clit delicately. Each motion sending sparks through her veins, body coming to life like a livewire. A lone fingertip teasing her folds with the promise of slipping inside; torturing her with tender swirls against her wet core.

Her entire body is heated. Flushed red as she feels a pair of lips glide up her back, pressing a series of kisses into her quivering muscles before finding a place along her shoulders. A voice, soft and sensuous, curls along the shell of her ear. “How do you feel?”

“I-I feel, I feel good.” Waverly can barely breathe.

“The contract says that there are certain activities you are interested in trying,” the finger torturing the brunette into madness drifts upwards, “ _this,_ being one of them.”

Waverly arcs her back, virgin hole clenching tight upon contact. She gasps, body trembling slightly with fear.

Anal; a scary and strange sexual act that is both perverse as it is exciting. Like most women with a healthy sexual appetite and curiosity, Waverly has always wondered what it would be like. Having heard from many friends that anal sex is a delightful way to spice up one’s sex life. Unimaginable pleasure just waiting to be discovered. But for all the fantasies, there are horror stories as well. Tales of not being prepared properly, the pain that follows when there hasn’t been enough time adjusting and god forbid, ripping. Porn certainly paints an unrealistic view that does more to shock than quell any worrying thoughts, actors and actresses gaping open in ways that shouldn’t be humanly possible.

When Nicole’s lips wrap around her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of her lobe before her tongue flickers against the shell. Small kisses against her neck, sucking the sensitive spot at the crook of her jaw. Waverly jumps as she feels Nicole’s finger teasing her open. “Relax baby, today’s all about you.”

“Mmmh…”

“All about you,” Nicole whispers. “As it should have been.”

The first dip takes Waverly’s breath away. Tip working its way against the clenching skin, each stroke pushing further inside, rim stretching until her walls are fluttering around the finger. It’s entire length filling her.

Flesh unfurling beautifully, a gorgeous pink rose in bloom on the first day of spring, wettened with morning dew. Waverly is utterly spellbound by the pleasure; amazed at how something generally thought to be debauched could feel so wonderful. Body vibrating with every swirl of the alpha’s thumb against her clit.

The tight ring of muscle clenching as Nicole starts to thrust back and forth, nerve endings igniting, forcing Waverly to pant. Every breath she takes is a hard reminder of the feeling of being penetrated, virgin hole stretched around the alpha’s finger. Heart pounding against her ribcage as heat swarms her chest. Making its home there as it consumes the brunette until it explodes. A colorful array of stars behind her eyelids, orgasm crashing into her like a tidal wave.

Waverly involuntary whines at the loss of the finger inside her, omega whimpering at the lack of contact. And while the emptiness inside her leaves her wanting more, the separation doesn’t last; not a second later when she feels Nicole’s hot breath against her ass. Only for the brunette to jump when it’s replaced with a slick tongue snaking its way against her skin before dipping inside. The alpha licks deeper, plunging through her tight walls and tasting Waverly so thoroughly; sinful in every aspect—forcing a moan deep from her throat.

“Mmm… oh, oh fuck,” she moans. Body quivering at the alpha’s tongue pushing deeper inside, thighs wet with desire. And when Nicole curls her tongue within, her hips automatically push back into the alpha’s face, chasing after more.

She’s dripping, slick with arousal; omega sprawled on its back and purring happily as she’s driven towards another orgasm.

The brunette tightens her grip on the edge of the massage table, knuckles white as a finger enters her wet core. Long and slender, walls instinctually stretching around the lone digit. Reaching further than she ever has and Waverly bites her lip at the realization. Suffocating a moan that works its way up her throat. Tears brimming at the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall.

Suddenly, the heat between her legs is gone.

“Don’t be quiet, baby.” Only to come back with a vengeance; a pair of sinfully plush lips slither their way up her spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Waverly shivers. The imprint of teeth grazing her skin, fangs elongated and sharpened, teasing her with a bite. “I want to hear you.”

Lightning strikes; the word leaving her mouth in a breathless, desperate whimper. _“Daddy!”_

For the second time, Waverly comes.

She is left breathing heavily, limbs like putty against the table. Her omega contently purrs in its corner, happily waiting for whatever else the alpha had in store.

On her back, Waverly is momentarily glad for the loss of her sight. Despite the embarrassment that still buzzes at the back of her mind like an annoying gnat, the brunette finds some sense of bliss in the ignorance of it all. Feeling slightly numb and weightless when Nicole’s hands start to massage her shoulders. Heating up the cooled oil, fingers tips skating along her collarbones.

There’s a feeling of apprehension, her insecurities coming to light as a wave of goosebumps form across her bare chest.

Despite the great lengths she went to accept herself, Waverly had always felt unsure of her body. She remembers being eleven years old and waking up to a smattering of blood between her legs. Her father, Ward, sitting down with her after Wynonna had taken to cleaning up her shaken form in the bathroom. As an omega in a house full of alphas, it was difficult to feel comfortable when there was no one she could relate to.

It wasn’t easy getting used to wearing a sanitary pad and then a tampon the next year once she started cheerleading. Or her hormones running wild, senses becoming sharper and being able to finally smell the rancid musk of her fellow classmates who were also coming into their own. Going through a series of false heats, body tearing itself in two as it went through the process of shedding the little girl from the woman she was to become.

Teenaged years filled with a budding attraction to both sexes, the revelation of learning she learned farther towards girls than boys, being self-conscious about her own sex appeal and whether anyone found her attractive. Compared to Willa’s sexpot vamp and Wynonna’s bad girl aesthetic, Waverly was sure she didn’t stand a chance. Not when she saw easily people gravitated to older Earps, her small town, girl next door aura getting lost in the dust.

Champ certainly ruined that image with his undeserved egotism.

Childhood sweethearts, they were once called. The omega and beta were an adorable pair according to all the adults, prime to achieve that fairytale dream of having a white wedding, birthing two kids and continuing on the stereotypical, small town way of life that has become synonymous with Purgatory.

A long time ago, Waverly believed it. Sure, that her destiny was to be Mrs. Champ Hardy and run Shorty’s like Gus and Curtis before her. But come high school things had changed, the children she grew up with, bright-eyed with wide grins were now teenagers; driven by a need to find their niche and place amongst their peers, ruled by hormones and destroyed by insecurities.

The halls reeked of adolescent alphas, betas and omegas clamoring for a spot on the social ladder.

Champ especially. Even back then, he was a bitter fool who tried as hard as he could to be like the alphas that ran the school. Wide receiver on the football team, regularly hanging out with the popular kids, hosting wild parties while his parents were away to elevate himself. The fairytale dream suiting him well come prom night when he was seen with the head cheerleader on his arm.

It sounds cliché, like something of an 80s teen movie. Only difference is sex with Champ wasn’t this magical explosion of colors and lights. Or a sordid memory that she’d always remember fondly as she helped her own daughter pick out prom dresses.

Just one disappointing memory opening up a gateway to the all others that followed. Back against a mattress, the weight of someone else above her, the air hot and arid between them. Feeling numb and lost; even when the faces changed, and it was no longer Champ rutting away between her legs looking for some semblance of his manhood and acceptance in the eyes of his sexually addicted peers, their touch always stayed the same. Burning her skin. Leaving her feeling dirty.

Guilty when the rest of the lovers she had taken to bed after him, were far more considerate. Far more emotionally attuned with her as they tried their hardest to make sure the sex wasn’t one-sided. Disgusted at her own traitorous body for giving in so easily. Even when her mind went blank with worry, she still _feels_ it.

“Baby.”

Waverly flinches. Jumping out of her skin at the voice pulling her out of her thoughts, the stern tone forcing her spine to go rigid. The alpha is still, her presence somewhat warped and she worries if she’s done something wrong.

“Come back.” Nicole says simply. She doesn’t repeat it, nor is there a follow up. “You need to be here.”

Waverly nods sheepishly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.” She then feels a slight of pressure on her thighs and quickly adds, _“Daddy.”_

“Good girl.” There is a soft kiss to her temple. Quick and reassuring. Almost lulling Waverly into a sense of genuine security and safety that just has to be false. It has to be.

Nicole’s fingers skim over her skin, shiver running down the brunette’s spine as they run along the length of her collarbone. Moving lower, trailing the pads of her fingers over the pert, supple flesh of her breasts. Coating it sweetly with the scented oil until they gleamed in the dim light like the rest of Waverly’s body. Thumbs caressing her nipples with maddeningly slow circles, heat rising in the omega’s chest like smoke. Cloying and thick until her lungs are full, threatening to burst.

“Tell me your favorite poem.”

“Wha… _What?”_ Waverly gasps with half lidded eyes beneath the blindfold, mouth slightly open as her pleasure is crooned in quiet tones from her lips.

“Your favorite poem. Tell me.” The alpha licks the hardened peaks, sucking one into the warm wetness of her mouth and teasing the other with faster circles, occasionally pinching and tugging until Waverly arcs her back off the table. Reveling in the redhead’s electrifying touch, the quiet room filled with the sounds of ecstasy.

Waverly’s breath hitches, and in less than a second later she feels Nicole move downward, hovering over the brunette’s smaller frame, nosing along the sensitive skin beneath her left breast. The familiar imprint of teeth against flesh. Sucking until the blood vessels burst, blossoming into a pink and red bruise, Waverly hissing at the pain even when Nicole runs her tongue over the mark to soothe the omega.

Nicole’s hands drift lower, massaging the taut muscles of Waverly’s abdomen. Eyes shut as she finds herself listening acutely to her own heartbeat skyrocketing. Beating rapidly against the walls of her chest like war drums. Tension gathers within the crevices of her shoulder blades again; incredibly anxious, bordering on afraid. Waverly licks her lips, searching through her muddied mind for a poem. Any poem, really. One that would keep her distracted and satisfy the alpha’s wishes.

“Thoughts become words,” Waverly begins softly. Face transforming into a patchwork of different emotions. Grateful for the blindfold hiding her eyes. She can only interpret the look on Nicole’s, calm and collected. Stoically cool as she’s done this many times before and will continue to do so long after the omega.

“As I read sentences, written with black stockings.” Nicole hums softly against her breast, grazing the edges with her teeth. Biting lightly. “While I drink a dirty martini waiting.”

Waverly feels warm all over. Gasping when she feels the alpha’s lips release their hold on her breasts and drift lower, a small puff of air against her belly button, shiver running down her spine. And then teeth— _fangs_ —being dragged sensually across the bare flesh of her navel. She doesn't know how it's possible to feel this much heat; it's flows through her body like a life source, centering in her hands and chest and pooling low in her belly. Fierce and urgent, Waverly is suddenly overcome with the need to be closer, as close she can possibly be. She reaches up, pressing eager fingers into Nicole’s scalp, running them through the silky tresses.

Tempted to curl a leg around the redhead’s body to keep her there, but thinks against it. Far too intimate of an action to even think about. Even when the alpha’s weight keeps her grounded, omega reveling in the feeling of being safe and wanted.

She whimpers. Chest tightening, a rush of heat flooding between her thighs at the need to be touched. To feel and be filled. The older woman’s fingers dancing over the soft, smooth skin of her inner thighs. Drumming a song into them, tempo picking up as Nicole, without hesitation, gives a languid lick against her slit. Slipping her tongue between the omega’s wet folds gingerly.

“Red heels on pavement,” Waverly grips the alpha’s hair tightly. The wiry muscles beneath her skin rippling, as she pulls harder.

Nicole teasingly swirls her tongue against Waverly’s throbbing clit, pressing the flat of her tongue against it as she deftly slides two fingers inside. Walls stretching delectably, ripping a hiss from deep with within the brunette’s chest. She’s tight around the long, slender digits thrusting inside of her core, instinctually clamping down in a vice-like grip that forms an array of multicolored stars behind her eyelids. Hips bucking with every thrust.

“Punctuated by long legs striding, s-striding—” a growl reverberates against her thigh, primal and guttural, “— _fuck Daddy_ —” teeth biting in with a hardened pressure that leaves Waverly breathless, fangs splitting the skin and casting away every inhibition; omega taking hold and surrendering herself to the purebred’s will. “—towards me!”

Every thrust is endless. Fast and rhythmical; even as Waverly grips the edge of the massage table until her knuckles are white, Nicole doesn’t stop. A prayer whispered breathlessly into the air that has the redhead working faster into the omega’s wet heat. Unable to keep up, she squirms, holding onto the edge for dear life. Pulse like thunder. Heart beating a steady melody, each note singing the alpha’s praises and strengthening the heat taking over her body.

Waverly is drowning.

Drowning in a sea of flames; bright shades of orange, yellow and red, painting her lust-addled mind with lavish brush strokes. Each one, another reason she loses herself into the abyss, blissfully taken away by the current.

“Your lips a full stop on mine.” She can feel the edges of an intense orgasm building quickly, thighs quivering at the impending explosion to come. Then, the alpha moves back up her body, capturing her lips.

Deep and purposeful, an entirely selfish act to devour every pant, every moan, every needy sound that brings Waverly further and further towards the edge. She keeps it slow and sensual, but firm. Nipping at the brunette’s bottom lip until she pulls away.

Fingers curling, Waverly’s walls snap tight around Nicole’s fingers as she comes, electricity coursing through her veins and springing her body forward. Back arching perfectly off the massage table, chest consumed by a wildfire of emotions. Images of gentle hands binding around her bared throat, teeth punching into the curve and drawing blood, red and purplish bruises blooming with the older woman’s possession over her body, flashing through her mind in rapid succession.

Waverly melts into the table. Limp and motionless, chest rising and falling heavily as she regains her breath, body vibrating as the remnants of her orgasm slowly fades away. Trembling with exhaustion. Omega asleep in its corner, satisfied and purring softly.

“Ren… Rendezvous…” The alpha trails her hand from Waverly’s jaw down her neck to swirl a thumb along her collarbone before sliding down her chest and waist, to her hips where it moves lower and curls around her thigh. Soothing the bite mark with soft circles.

“By Michael Faudet,” Nicole finishes for her, finally removing the blindfold. “Excellent choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Rendezvous" by Michael Faudet](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/47/a7/74/47a774b486ee34695b85a713dc12e75d--meaningful-sayings-life-sayings.jpg).
> 
> \---
> 
> It has been a long, long, **_LONG_** while since we were here folks. This chapter kicked my ass and I had to go through hell and back to get through it and finish it.
> 
> Special thanks to my fellow conspirators who stuck by me through the madness that was writing this chapter: [czadrich](http://czadrich.tumblr.com/) and [o-flairegan](http://o-flairegan.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And thank you to everyone who's liked my stories, gave kudos, commented, bookmarked, subscribed and hung in there all these months.  
> Feel free to visit me and raid my inbox on [Tumblr](vodkabite.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

Jesus Christ…

Waverly can barely form a coherent sentence, much less a single thought as she revels in the aftermath of their first session. A self-satisfied smile adorning her lips as she is scooped up into Nicole’s arms. Slightly embarrassed at how lifeless she feels, limbs limp and malleable while her mind is a jumbled mess of half-formed ideas and emotions. It’s like she’s a teenaged girl in one of those old Technicolor comics Curtis used to let her read as a kid, talking on the phone with her hair in a side ponytail, popping bubble gum in her mouth and chatting incessantly to her best friend about boys. Or the main protagonist in a romantic comedy where after spending the entirety of the movie trying to overcome her own insecurities through a series of hilarious missteps, the birds start singing and suddenly she understands all those love songs on the radio.

It’s asinine.

Absolutely asinine.

Feeling such things after a series of orgasms; honestly, how sexually repressed was she truly? A question she’ll bother to concern herself with later because the truth is she automatically curls up into the alpha’s arms for the few seconds that it lasts before being placed on the bed. Laid gently in the middle, Waverly takes a deep breath and watches Nicole who sits at the edge. A warm comforter thrown over her body, hair splayed about against the softest pillows imaginable.

Waverly sets the scene, because it deserves setting for future posterity when she can look back on this fondly: her body, despite being numb, still tingles with the aftershocks of her orgasm—one, she might add, that she didn’t obtain herself with the use of her own fingers or the toy she keeps in a chest underneath her bed at home—she’s lying on the world’s softest bed, warmed by a feathered comforter that caresses her bare skin and lastly, beside her is the country’s richest alpha. A purebred no less, pulling out a variety of sweets from a white bag.

 _Daddy_ , hanging thickly on her tongue.

“How do you feel?” Nicole asks, her voice softer than what it was before. No longer driving Waverly insane from one colorful explosion into the next.

“I-I’m okay.” Waverly responds. “Just a little tired…?”

Nicole looks up, “Is that a statement or a question?”

Waverly shakes her head, then nods, then widens her eyes like a deer in headlights not knowing what to do or say next. The words dying in her throat when Nicole cuts in with a small laugh. “It’s fine, the first time is usually the most draining.”

“Usually?”

“Of course, but don’t worry about that now.” The alpha winks, smile brandishing a tiny glimpse of the fangs hiding behind her lips. “Let’s see where the week takes us.”

The words bounce off the walls of Waverly’s brain, echoing and igniting the synapses. Reminding her of what was to come—damn it, her cheeks burn at the phrasing and could only hope that Nicole didn’t notice the blush now coloring her cheeks. Throwing her head hack to save face, she becomes startled at what she sees above her.

Her own face staring back at her.

The four-poster canopy had a full-length mirror that encompassed the entire bed. The omega blinking in disbelief as she takes in her own appearance. Body slicked with a thin sheet of sweat, sex mussed hair, wild and carelessly tossed in every direction, lips bitten and swollen; truly, and undoubtedly, well fucked. The kind usually seen on Wynonna slinking back home after a long night at Shorty’s or a relatively short one at Peacemaker.

“Eat.” Nicole hands over a trio of chocolate bars, Hershey’s, two milk chocolate and one cookies and cream. King-sized. “Conserve your energy, I don’t want you dropping.”

Waverly had done extensive research on the matter leading up to this week after Chrissy explicitly mentioned that the rich, blue blooded alpha she would entertaining, and satisfying sexually, had less than conventional tastes. Leading the brunette to pour over countless articles and webpages in preparation. Browsing history filled with sites discussing sub drops and the measures the dominant is supposed to take concerning their submissive/scene-partner.

A drop will generally set in within twenty-four to seventy-two hours after an intense scene in which endorphins and adrenaline will spiked, commonly associated with sub/top space, and thus will result in a crash with symptoms reminiscent of depression.

Marked by things like difficulty concentrating, remembering details and decisions, fatigue and decreased energy, insomnia and disruption in usual sleeping patterns to name a few. Irritability, restlessness and even a loss of interest in activities or hobbies that were once pleasurable; Waverly shook her head at that one, unable to imagine losing interest in something as attuned to her base nature as reading. She might just go insane. But of all the possible afflictions she could endure after a session, Waverly is surprised and a more than a bit worried for the following: feelings of misplaced guilt, worthlessness and or helplessness highlighted with bouts of hopelessness and or pessimism. Persistent sad, anxious or “empty” feelings.

And the most frightening of them all, written in bold red letters: thoughts of suicide and even suicide attempts.

She shivers. Unable to equate a round of sex to suicide. Waverly agrees with the feelings of guilt and worthlessness, but actually take her own life? It gets the omega thinking; how much was she risking putting her mind through all this? How far will she possibly go before she forgets who she is anymore?

The severity of a drop and its symptoms, should they occur, will vary widely between those that experience them. The website Waverly found that was tailored to educating the ignorant and the curious on BDSM explicitly stated: if the symptoms do not clear up within seven days, then it should be considered that there are other psychological and physiological concerns at play. Thus, the dominant and submissive should immediately seek appropriate and professional help.

Waverly takes a bite of the milk chocolate bar first, eager to dissuade any melancholy feelings. Nibbling on the treat as an iPad is pulled from the bag. Gold in color, gleaming in the dim lighting of the playroom and Waverly thinks to herself at how on earth she assumed it would’ve been any other color _but_ gold.

“Netflix? Or a book?” Nicole asks. Waverly shrugs her shoulders sheepishly.

“Now, now, you need to tell me. The session is over but we’re still in the playroom.”

“Uh, Netflix is fine… You can pick whatever you want.”

“Alright,” Nicole scoots closer, arms wrapping around Waverly; setting the iPad in front of them and flipping to the cartoons section.

“Family Guy?” Only a natural assumption, she doubts a grown woman would watch a kid’s show.

Nicole shakes her head and a shive runs down Waverly’s spine when she feels the auburn-haired woman’s chin resting on her shoulder. “American Dad, a lot funnier. Doesn’t try hard when it comes to the jokes.”

An episode is loaded up, the theme song filling the speakers on the side of the device, but the volume is low. The music and the characters’ voices are barely audible, whispers in the cavernous room and she understands then.

“We’re not watching Netflix, are we?”

“You catch on quick.”

Waverly blinks, flinching when the auburn-haired woman settles behind her. Hands clasped together softly in front of her waist. The comforter serving as a barrier between them. Having the alpha’s arms wrapped around her is strange. Heat radiating from her pale skin, providing more warmth than the quilt wrapped around her still naked body.

It reminds Waverly of the time she and Chrissy attended a party at GRU’s resident fraternity. Alpha Nu Sigma. The entire house rented for them in the university’s name was decked out in blue and white colors. Much like Purgatory High’s. It was their first time at a college party, doe-eyed freshman straight out of high school looking to get a taste of that party life glorified and revered in television and movies.

The ones where the alcohol flows freely, students, young and free, hooking up and having the time of their lives. The kind they’d remember well into old age and senility. But Waverly doesn’t remember the party being anything more than a complete bust. Remembering a string of boys lined up trying to be charming than the last, exaggerating their accomplishments and nodding absentmindedly at anything the brunette said. Each one reeking of lust like prepubescent teenagers finding porn for the first time.

She had no luck with women either. They were just as sex driven as the men. She wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. Contrary to popular belief, Waverly indeed was just looking to have a good time. One that had nothing to do with becoming one half of two partially drunken freshmen rutting away like animals for that first college memory to tell for the rest of their lives.

But no, by the time the sixth alpha to approach her is flexing his arms and showing her some party trick he can do with an empty beer bottle, Waverly realizes that she ought to head back home and salvage whatever brain cells she had left.

And she does, bidding her goodbyes to Chrissy before speeding home. Finding her father sleeping on his favorite chair in front of the TV in the living room, mouth open, beer can half-empty in hand. Still wearing his uniform. Willa and Wynonna pouring over some books in the kitchen, well Willa is, Wynonna was busy shoving food into her mouth.

Wynonna asked if she had gotten any, bumped uglies or did the nasty with anyone cute. Practically using every euphemism she knew to describe her baby sister’s non-existent sexual encounter.

Willa in turn, thumps her on the head with a packet of papers for being tactless.

Nevertheless, Waverly shakes her head. Faking a yawn and resigning to her bedroom for the rest of the night.

Now that she thinks about it, here in the alpha’s arms, absentmindedly watching Roger the Alien blow up the Smith family kitchen for the sheer fun of it, Waverly wonders what it would have been like had she and Nicole crossed paths in college.

Imagining a clump of alphas hovering near a card table where all the alcohol is set up, tipping more booze into their cups after every few sips, all too aware of how beer flows endlessly through the party. Nudging her way through, getting a clatter of ice cubes and a splash of vodka from a sweet-faced omega wearing a Doctor Who t-shirt.

Slipping away quickly when the alphas start to get rowdy, not wanting to get caught in the middle of that. Chrissy is missing from the party, probably somewhere where she’s the life of the little group she magnetically drew together like the social butterfly that she is. By now, the party is winding down. People having already drank their fill but were still sober enough to pick cleverly worded fights, the smell of cigarette smoke billowing out an open window even after the host had asked them to go outside.

Waverly would have given herself something to do had she stayed at the party. Instead of milling about, standing in the center of the room like a helpless seal stranded in shark infested waters. She goes for a walk, heading out of the frat house for some fresh air. On the way out, she notices a pair of omegas, both males and clearly a couple from the way they sit off to the side on the porch, angled towards each other, shoulders hunched in the shape of a heart.

She looks at them fondly despite the longing feeling that seeps into her skin. Freezing her blood at the sight. Waverly moves faster, taking one last glance at the couple, two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together, before she—

“Oh, I’m sorry.” A velvety voice says.

It’s _her_. Heart predictably skips a beat. But she doesn’t know it’s Nicole yet. Just knows that it’s a woman with a pair of bright honey-golden eyes and an even brighter smile, wearing this air of cockiness around her that fits as easily as the shirt on her back. An alpha with the richest scent she’s ever smelled, decadent, like vanilla dipped donuts fresh out of the oven. She imagines the woman as a teenager, a young adult fresh out of high school, having just gotten out of this rebellious phase that had taken hold of her adolescent years. Marked by piercings and tattoos. The kind of woman who has seen all the world has to offer and then some.

Much like Jay Gatsby written to perfection by Fitzgerald’s hand, she’s dressed in the finest silk shirt, jeans made from an expensive brand worth more than Waverly’s own car. The fur lining her boots probably from the hide of some unknown animal who’s become critically endangered just to make them.

“I-It’s okay.” Waverly responds, mentally kicking herself for that slight stutter.

But Nicole would find it endearing. The kind of woman who carries herself with a subtle ease that drew people in, unlike many of the people Waverly had the misfortune of losing several brain cells to; the ones who pretend that an over bloated sex life is attractive. The ones who automatically assume that every breathing, red-blooded omega is out looking to get fucked by the first good-looking person who flexes and smiles their way. Unfortunately, Waverly has had her share of dumbasses in bed, more so than the oh so few who were genuine and sweet.

The preppy rich kids who didn’t understand what the word “reciprocating” means, thinking that their parents’ money entitled them to everything; the self-aware hipsters who took the stereotypically negative traits placed upon millennials like badges of honor, as if they were a code to live by; the sensitive honors students who try to make up for their lack personable skills by treating sex like a musical composition, technical and with no rhythm.

“Please,” it starts with such a weird word, one akin to asking, begging, “let me get you another drink.”

“Okay.” Because Waverly knows, she _knows_ , the alpha would never beg.

Unless she wanted to.

“Okay, but just one drink, though.”

 _Just one drink, though._ It’s a simple line, maybe a little funny and cute with the way Nicole smiles, silver lip piercing glinting in the dim lighting. The makings of what has the potential of being an inside joke that only they share. Somewhere, years from now, they would remember this day fondly, grinning as they did before.

All thoughts of staying outside dissipate as she is lead back inside; a palm open and flat against the small of her back. Staying close, molding into the alpha’s side while the rest part through the middle like the Red Sea to let them through. Some regarded them with envy, half towards Nicole, and the other half towards Waverly herself. She expects several of the female betas and omegas in the now disastrous living room were probably wishing the brunette would run off somewhere to leave Nicole free and unattached; she doesn’t blame them.

Not when, she admits that Nicole is gorgeous. Beautiful. Distractingly so. With the kind of look that makes you do a double take, slack jawed, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water at the sheer unfairness of it all. The other alphas hate her: the auburn-haired woman resembles something out of an ‘80s teen movie—either the rich kid who wears all white after Labor Day with pride, perfect and clean-cut presence that draws attention everywhere she goes; or the leather wearing misfit with piercings and eyeliner, fingers calloused from strumming the strings of a guitar.

She doesn’t act like either archetype, though. Her name is Nicole; of Greek origin and it means "victory of the people". Having evolved into a French feminine derivative of the masculine given name Nicolas. And most of all, it sits on Waverly’s tongue like it was meant to be there.

They chat like they’re old friends, picking up where they left off after years of being apart. For some reason, Waverly is unable to shake this gnawing feeling that they had met before, maybe in a past life some time ago. Living out a timeless love story, instead of sharing their opinions on the many that have already been written.

Coming back to reality, she sees that the previous episode of American Dad had long ended. Now seven minutes into another where Roger the Alien is dressed up as basketball player while Steve Smith is doing a parody of R. Kelly’s _Stuck in the Closet._ Nicole still has her arms wrapped around the brunette. Chin resting delicately on her bare shoulder, able to feel the vibrations of the alpha’s purrs through her skin.

“You spend a lot of time in your head.” Nicole’s eyes remain closed.

“I’m a thinker,” Waverly replies and hears a soft, non-committal grunt in return. “And a planner.”

“Ever thought of just going with the flow?”

“Not really.” _Doesn’t exactly work in my world._

“Well,” Nicole starts. “Maybe we can change that? At least for the week.”

Waverly nods, shrugging her shoulders, still unsure. And then, when she turns her head to face forward and catches sight of the iron grid mounted on the wall, adorned with various objects, that it hits her. “Is _this_ the aftercare?”

Nicole makes a face, half yes and half no. “Somewhat. Today session was really just to prepare you for the rest of the week.”

“So, what have we been doing?”

“ _You_ were inside your head,” Nicole has a great smile, a wolfish smile. She could devour the omega whole, the way she smiles at her. Eyes half-lidded like a solar eclipse, the light faint. “Seeing as how that makes you comfortable, I didn’t want to disrupt it.”

“For now.”

“Naturally.”

They sit in silence for the rest of time that is spent in the playroom. A welcome change from the usual half-hearted monotone after-sex banter she was so used to having. Here, Waverly drifts. The low whispers from the iPad and the heat surrounding her, soothing her to sleep. A tired, dreamy yawn escapes from her lips, and she feels the warmth pull her closer into itself. The sound of her own heartbeat steady against her eardrums. A rocking motion pulls her down further, images of herself as child going fishing with her father, sitting with her back against his side, reading through _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban,_ as he waited patiently to reel something in; can of beer in one hand, fishing rod in the other. Willa on the other side of him, doing the same while teasing a sleeping Wynonna who, in her sleep, scratches the phantom itch. It’s one of her favorite memories.

Even if there were a few times they went overboard in the lake because Willa and Wynonna couldn’t stop fighting.

When she opens her eyes again, half awake, rubbing the bleariness of sleep out of them, she feels the rocking motion again. There’s nothing solid beneath her feet and she, in a sudden panic, stirs. Only to be quieted with a “shhh…” Her head rests against Nicole’s chest, as she is carried effortlessly down the hall. Over the alpha’s shoulder she sees the black doors of the playroom fade away. Rounding the corner of the grand staircase, she pulls back, staring at the curve of the auburn-haired woman’s profile. Her eyes are mischievous, playful; her lashes are long, Waverly can envision snowflakes clinging to them in winter. Can see what she looked like as a girl, wide-eyed and ready for life.

They head up the stairs, shadows formed into one, dancing dizzyingly on the marble steps behind them. It’s nighttime. Has to be. It’s been more than enough hours since she woke and saw daylight; confirmed when Nicole brings her to her room and sees the clear blue sky from this morning now a cozy gradient of orange and yellow. Just like in Purgatory.

Nicole gently puts her down on the bed, she moves to leave the omega be, but she lingers.

“One last time for today, are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you.” There’s the makings of a smile on the brunette’s face. Shy, as she discovers that she is still naked beneath and the quilt. Combing back several strands of hair behind her ear, she misses a single strand and reaches up to fix it but Nicole’s quicker. Curling it back, fingertips floating; slow but purposeful, along the skin beneath her ear down the curve of her neck.

Snapping out of it, Nicole makes her way out of the room. Standing at the doorframe, hand on the knob, she gives one last smile, “You’re welcome.” Before closing the door.

With Nicole gone, Waverly sighs and lays back on the bed. Covering her face.


	6. Chapter 6

“Venti Chocolate Caramel Latte.”

Accepting the drink from the young boyish-looking barista whose red apron is several sizes a bit too big for his frame, Waverly takes a seat and waits patiently for Chrissy in the lounge of Ghost River’s café. The smell of freshly poured iced coffee and muffins fresh out of the oven over the counter and her own latte sitting in front of her provides a warm, cozy feel. Simply and familiar, bringing the omega back to a time before the contract. A time where the highlight of her day was made by not hearing Wynonna and Willa argue in the morning so much, the traffic light on Main Street didn’t take forever and a day to go from red to green or managing to snatch the last of the freshly made sugar cookies from the café’s bakery in the early morning before class.

Such an unexciting life that most people her age would kill to change, kill to have the one she lives now and break free from the monotonous grind

Top uncovered, the whipped cream having already dissolved into a small cloud-like island in the center of the cup. The intricate design of chocolate syrup the barista had made long gone; the drink itself was still hot enough to provide that extra kick when the heat reached the back of her throat, but colder than what it was before.

Officially her second day with Nicole and while her trepidation has died down, somewhat, she still feels the shock of it all: the alpha’s touch all over her skin, her lips, the stroke of heat between her legs. She rubs her thighs together to stave off another incident where she’s left with a ruined pair of panties. God forbid she has a repeat of this morning; half naked in bed, two fingers deep, omega mewling and scratching at the door. Her only respite from lustful lull was when the cat, whom she now knew was named Calamity Jane, entered the room and stared. Sitting at the foot of the bed, the wretched beast simply _stared._ A wave of embarrassment washing over her as the cat’s bright green eyes kept her from achieving release.

The miniature tiger in all its devious ways knew what Waverly meant when she called her a thief. A mangy animal for refusing to save her from this incredibly embarrassing moment by leaving her in peace. Ears twitching, yawning in affirmation.

Made worse when she’s finally dressed and ready, heading down the stairs to let Nicole know she was heading out for a while only to catch the alpha finishing up a run. Walking through the front door with a pair of low hanging sweatpants, hoodie and sports bra; skin glistening with sweat, scent decadent and strong. Omega instantly purring.

And now here she was, finger tapping against the rim of her latte, reading through Nicole’s Wikipedia page. Not exactly the most reputable source but really the best option for the limited amount of time she had before class while she waited for Chrissy.

The page is simple, short and straight to the point. Admittedly, it’s a little bland and empty compared to the amount of information Waverly assumed it would have had regarding her rich alpha. Of course despite this, there is a photo of the auburn-haired older woman from an event last year, here she was attending the Governor’s Ball in an expensive and immensely form fitting Armani suit. Jacket sleeves pulled tight over her biceps, the top few buttons of her dress shirt undone, her hair was long back then, reaching well past her shoulders and settling at the middle of her back without a single strand out of place. Waverly has to take a sip from her cooled latte, licking the dissolving whipped cream from her lips to placate the unconscious desire to lick them out of sheer attraction. Arousal.

She shivers and immediately pushes those thoughts away, continuing down the page.

 

> _Nicole Haught (born January 5 th, 1993) is a Canadian business and technology entrepreneur, investor, and philanthropist, best known for as the current chief executive officer of Cerberus Enterprise, an international business conglomerate and is a member of the Royal House of Haught, and one of the current pretenders to the defunct French throne as Nicole IX._

 

It doesn’t register at first, taking several rereads of that particular line for it to fully sink in; the magnitude of the situation rising to the surface.

Yes, Nicole is exceedingly wealthy.

And yes, she is the chosen heir to the oldest dynasty in the country.

But to be the de facto heir? Tomorrow the French government can reestablish the monarchy and the alpha would instantly be crowned as the new queen—holding more of a legitimate claim than the other possible prospects to the throne. The only one who could even come close would be Louis Alphonse de Bourbon, Duke of Anjou; a pretender through the Spanish line whose relation to the monarchy is that of Louis XIV. Bloodline formed from one of the old king’s many bastard children. Louis Alphonse would be known as Louis XX, should he be crowned, but his claim to legitimacy is founded on a house of cards and his bloodline is murky and muddied.

Going through the line of succession, the auburn-haired alpha’s ancestry is far more crystal clear. Waverly quickly skims through the names, most of them sounding familiar from her middle school history classes. She remembers reading up on Mason I and Charlotte Haught, Duchess of Versailles, after watching a movie on the latter in her ninth-grade global history class; the two being the only children of Nicole VIII and her second wife.

Taking a moment to breathe and process, Chrissy arrives, practically running through the glass doors towards her.

“Hey you,” the beta greets with a kiss to the cheek. “So, tell me, tell me, how’d last night go? You can totally thank me.”

Waverly rolls her eyes and groans, of course Chrissy would want a full rundown of her first day with Nicole. Because this is what best friends do, they compare notes and have an in-depth discussion about the one person they’ve both had sex with. The giddiness in the taller woman’s voice indicating that there was no way in hell she was going to drop this short of an asteroid ominously barreling its way towards earth and even then, she’d still find a way to bring it up.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Uh huh, sure there isn’t.” She then cups her hand into a circle, jerking it back and forth near her mouth; the crude gesture worsened with each movement in time with her tongue poking against the inside of her cheek. “Big right?”

“Chrissy!” Waverly all but shrieks, face turning several shades redder as her best friend laughs.

“What?” The omega groans and takes a sip from her latte. “Don’t tell me you were a pillow princess the whole time.”

Waverly sighs and shakes her head. It’s only when she’s this close to pulling out her notebook from her bag and thumping Chrissy on the head with it, that the beta finally understands.

“Well… at least there’s something else to look forward to.” Chrissy Nedley everyone. “Oh wait, I think my coffee’s done! Be right back.”

While Chrissy left to grab her mocha iced coffee from the counter and proceed to literally empty out the metal tray that had what was left of the lemon sugar cookies from earlier, even opening up one of the small packages and placing a cookie in her mouth before there’s even a chance to swipe her credit card, Waverly continues down the Nicole’s page.

Alumni from the University of Toronto, graduated with high grades and on the Dean’s List with a master’s degree in business and marketing. As well as a bachelor’s in law, with a quote from the alpha from an interview several years ago: _“I took law because it interested me, honestly, if I was never made CEO of I would’ve became a police officer instead.”_ Beneath that several sections, each one titled after an important facet in the alpha’s character. The brunette skips past the ones detailing her personal life and even her marriage to Shae, it felt too weird to read something so personal despite it being on a public website for anyone to see.

A section called entitled _Ancestry_ , catches her attention instead.

As expected the entire section is just one giant family tree with Nicole (and her siblings Charlize, Alexei and Evan) connected to their parents Viktor and Isabelle, from there the royal bloodline is passed through Viktor, all the way until the 1700s—ending or starting, given the limited amount of space on the page, with Nicole VIII, the last Haught to bear the name until the rich alpha Waverly knew. There’s a link leading to a full page of all the descendants from the House of Haught dating as far back as historically possible, and as much as the history nerd in Waverly would love to get lost in a sea of Wikipedia pages, digesting each and every ounce of information they hold, she bypasses it and taps her thumb against the link for the queen her alpha was named after.

The page loads and…

 _“Oh,”_ Waverly says once the page finishes loading, she blinks several times before putting her next thought together.

She’s no fool. She knows that when it comes to individuals and their ancestors, there’s bound to be some resemblance between the two. Same hair color, same eyes, whatever it may be. But the similarities between Nicole and the queen dressed in regal attire on the web page are near identical. The only difference between the two lied in what the brunette knew of the queen’s personality and what she knew so far of Nicole’s.

 

> _Nicole VIII, also known as Nicole the God-Given, Nicole the Great (Nicole le Grand) or more commonly, Nicole the Sun Queen (Reine Soleil), was a monarch of the House of Haught who reigned as Queen of France from 1715 until her death in 1752._

 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Nicole,” Waverly says upon Chrissy’s return to the lounge table.

“In my defense, we both know you would have never agreed to it if I did—which we still need talk about your first night, don’t think I forgot.” Of course she wouldn’t.

“Still, I mean come on Chris, forget the whole rich alpha CEO stuff and the part about being a purebred, but royalty? Like the kind we read in textbooks and what period films are about, that’s a massive thing to have omitted.”

“I can think of something else that’s massive—”

“Not now Nedley!”

“Uh oh, you sound like Wynonna.”

“Chrissy…”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” The beta smiles before taking a bite out of another sugar cookie.

“Thank you,” Waverly sighs, momentarily grateful, but she doesn’t hold her breath. Moving on, she shows Chrissy the page, “Look, practically the same face.”

“Hmm, never realized it before. Then again, that is her ancestor, Waves.”

“It’s so freaky though, like doppelgängers. _Twins._ ” The brunette says, continuing down the wiki entry.

 

> _In the final years leading to the end of the age of feudalism, Viktor V’s France was a leader in the growing centralization of power. Which soon gave way to a transitional period between 1710 and 1715 where he resigned from the throne due to sickness, starting Nicole VIII’s reign at the age of fifteen._
> 
> _An avid athlete, the queen excelled at sports, especially jousting, hunting, and tennis. As well as being a patron saint of the arts, Nicole VIII was an accomplished musician, author and poet; her best-known writings is an anthology poems under the title_ Ma Rose au Clair de Lune (My Rose in the Moonlight _). She has been described as “one of the most charismatic rulers to sit on French throne.”_
> 
> _Nicole VIII, despite heralding a flourishing artistically movement that sought the rise of many influential creators, is best known for her liaisons. Particularly her efforts to have her first marriage, to the Princess of Wales, annulled. Her disagreement with the Catholic Church of France led the queen to establish an absolute monarchy that the country would endure until the French Revolution._

 

“Often, she is characterized during this time period as a lustful, egotistical queen who’s own personal reformation, as recorded in the accounts of many, at the hands of her second wife.” Waverly recites, and a lightbulb comes to light over Chrissy’s head.

“Didn’t Evan Rachel Wood play her in that show on Showtime?” The beta asks. “Or was it on the BBC?”

The shorter brunette confirms it as the show from the BBC. “We used to watch it together after Orphan Black.”

“God, I miss that show,” the beta moans. For the days of yesteryear when they were just teenagers huddled together on the couch beneath a warm blanket and pints of ice cream. A Saturday night ritual that has since become the stuff of memories once they started college.

But things have obviously changed since then. Older, wiser, far cry from the wide-eyed teenagers they once were. Still, much to Waverly’s never-ending joy, some habits were hard to kick. Walking into Mr. Harris’ Sociology class, the pair still took their seats in the middle of the classroom: not too far upfront to be right in front of the smartboard and chalkboard, thus being the first to be subjected to the man’s need for student participation nor are they too far towards the back where it’s easy to lose track and fall to the wayside. Much like the underachievers who prefer to skate by and are then scrutinized constantly under the man penetrating and ever vigilant gaze.

No, Waverly and Chrissy sit in their perfect spot where the beta will sometimes doddle random objects and bubble lettered words in the margin of her notebook, drawing spirals and 3D shapes. Sometimes Waverly will do the same, but her drawings are more detailed, at least they are in thought. Crude, bare boned drawings of Eastern Asian temples, medieval European castles and the occasional landmark—the Sydney Opera House, the Roman Colosseum, Big Ben, the Eiffel Tower—all the places she’d love to visit one day.

Mr. Harris’ Sociology class continues as usual, the beta droning on and on about pre-civilized humans and boring everyone into a near comatose-like sleep, finishing off with homework and a reading that needed to be done by next week.

“You heading to Davidson’s to talk about your thesis for English?” Chrissy asks gathering her books.

“I might, but there’s still time to pull it all together and I’d rather not make two trips.”

“So, what’s next?” A sly smile forms on the beta’s face. “Head back to Remus and take Nicole out for a spin?”

“Hilarious.”

“I wouldn’t blame you, I’ve got a class in forty-five minutes and you’d be doing us both a huge service by getting lucky. _Again_.”

“Chris, I love you, but you’re too much of a horn dog. Worse than Wynonna.”

“Ouch, that hurts. And I want is for you to have fun, granted you will be lying under someone but it’s the thought that counts.”

“Huh,” Waverly pauses for a moment, a long-held thought rising to the surface. “Chrissy, I have to ask you a question. An honest one.”

“Shoot.”

“Shae’s on a week-long business trip, for that same duration Nicole’s in a rut, why didn’t she just call off the trip and stay with her wife?”

“I had the same question myself, even went as far as to ask Jeremy about it. But all he told me was that Shae couldn’t postpone her trips and Nicole didn’t want to go through her rut alone.” For some reason the explanation didn’t sit well with Waverly, as though there was more that Chrissy wasn’t telling her. But with the beta having been in the shorter brunette’s position, however long ago it was, it didn’t make any sense for her not to tell Waverly the truth.

Chrissy doesn’t know it herself.

“Don’t you think it’s weird though? Like they’re both rich, they come from highly influential families, and are clearly trusting of each other to even have this arrangement; question is why?” Waverly asks. “Why write up a contract? Wouldn’t just sleeping with a rut specialist be enough? It’s a medical thing and I’m sure their insurance could cover it.”

“Maybe they tried it and it didn’t work?” Chrissy shrugs her shoulders. “Like therapy, it’s hard to find someone you really click with.”

Waverly nods. “Yeah, but if that didn’t work she could’ve hired, I don’t know, an escort? A hooker? Really, Nicole could’ve just had one-night stands the whole week, _a lot_ more affordable than willing to pay off someone’s entire school tuition.”

“Don’t forget gifts! I’ve still got my summer dress at home.”

“Chrissy, that’s not— _wait_ , the one you wore to the Canada Day barbecue?”

The beta nods her head proudly, “Yep! Nicole bought it for me when I had to accompany her to a private party at some country club. I think I met a senator there.”

“A senator?”

“Old guy, really nice, wanted me to be his sugar baby.”

Waverly blinks. _“And?”_

“Nothing happened, Nicole stayed close by and eventually the senator got over the whole thing and the conversation moved to something else. TV Shows, I think.”

“Anyways, don’t you think it’s weird though, two people, who are happily married, setting up these contracts?”

“A little, but to be honest Waverly, if I spent so much time thinking of the technical stuff and the morality of it all, I’d _still_ be struggling to pay my tuition, but I’m not and neither is my dad.”

“So, you aren’t curious? At all?”

“I was, but really Waves I’m over it.” Chrissy shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, “Being with Nicole was an experience, a good one, and it will be for you too. I just don’t want you to think too much and ruin it for yourself.”

They head out towards the parking lot near the main building, crossing over the quad and narrowly escaping the laser sight of one of the Honors Society club leaders, known for using an assortment of underhanded tactics meant for playing on one’s guilt, ultimately forcing them into signing their name down as a new member because doing so would somehow ease their inability to help starving children in Africa or the poor animals swept away in the Indian Ocean because of the recent oil spill. Honestly, as much as Waverly did her best helping in anyway she could, their tactics were unbecoming. Chrissy mentioning that the club leaders were more suited to politics than saving the world.

Besides that almost mishap, the long walk to the parking lot is eventless. Sure, there’s a group of people playing ultimate frisbee and two of the players collided into each other, there’s a guy beneath an oak tree with an acoustic guitar and beanie performing for a small group overly interested girls, and from where they stand, Waverly can see one of the philosophy professors holding a class in the middle of the grassy field. Just another day at Ghost River.

That is until Chrissy points to where a group of rowdy guys, mostly betas, are seen roughhousing. They vary in size, shape and breed, but two things are unmistakable among them the rowdy brood: one, they all wore letterman jackets, with the university’s red and black colors, each jacket belonging to a sport; and two, they were being led by Champ Hardy. He isn’t the biggest of the group, definitely not the smartest, but he is the loudest and rowdiest of them all. A walking cliché with his cropped hair and fade, skinny jeans, and his never-ending reign at the top of everyone’s social media dashboards. Waverly figures that’s why the group of young men and even his own circle of friends accepted him as their unofficial leader, Champ Hardy likes to be the center of attention and with everyone filling out the stereotypical college drunken party animals, they were all quick to follow his lead.

To be completely honest with herself, now that she had the hindsight to look back on her relationship with him, Waverly can see why people, and herself, chose to be around him. Superficial reasons; that timeless, adolescent need to be popular and accepted. The beta fit into that mold perfectly, carrying himself as if he stood at the top of the world. Head held high and proud. He’s an obnoxious fuck, as Wynonna pointed out many times before, and to her absolute chagrin, she was going to pay witness to it again.

“Oh shit, idiot at twelve o’ clock,” Chrissy murmurs quietly as said idiot detaches from his friends and makes a beeline towards them.

“Hey Waverly, Chrissy,” the beta male greets them with a pearly white smile.

Waverly: “Hi Champ.”

Chrissy: “Hey.”

“You guys coming to Glacier this week? A bunch of us are going to celebrate the basketball team’s recent win over Edmonton.” He sounds proud, as if he was the one who scored the winning shot, and with what Waverly remembered of his collegiate athletic career—he had none save for his brief stint as a wide receiver on the football team before an injury put him out for good. Most of all he sounded hopeful.

“Sounds fun, but I’m pulling the late shift this week at the bookstore.” Chrissy says quickly before looking to Waverly. They both do.

“Oh uh, sorry but I can’t,” the omega responds quickly. “I-I’ve got plans.” She hopes she sounds convincing enough that Champ would just drop the conversation and leave, but the frown on his face says otherwise. He shoves his hands into his jeans’ pockets and shrugs his shoulders.

“You seeing anybody?” Champ asks, the beta tries to give off this air of _whatever, I don’t care_ but it falls flat with how his gaze flits between Waverly and the ground beneath them.

“Definitely, big strong alpha,” Chrissy adds with a cheeky smile. Chiming in before the shorter brunette can say anything herself.

Looking to her best friend likes she’s grown another head, quickly having to nod and agree to save face. “Yep!” Now that this was the chosen narrative they were going with, she had to stick with it. “Very strong.”

“That’s good,” crossing his arms, he isn’t convinced. “Have I seen him around here or in Purgatory?”

“ _She_ is a successful college graduate from the—” Chrissy and Waverly share a look before the omega pipes up “—University of Toronto—” there’s a smug look on her best friend’s face, like the cat that ate the canary, thinking she’s so clever. “Exactly.”

But it all sounds so fake. Talking about this imaginary person she’s dating and the guilt she feels with Chrissy, with good intentions, using Nicole’s likeness to put a face and story to this woman she’s suddenly in a relationship with. It sounds so fake and Champ knows, he’s an idiot to most things but deceptively perceptive with others. The entire conversation is awkward, and Waverly wants the earth to open up and swallow her whole, to be as far and away from this as possible.

Champ lets out an uneasy chuckle. “Sure, next thing you’re going to tell me is that this _girlfriend_ of yours is rich too?”

“Champ…” She begins, and he makes a face, somewhere between feigning genuine innocence and unabashed smugness.

“Look, I’m happy for you, alright?” He doesn’t mean it though, holding on to some misguided idea that they would get back together, that there was still a spark between them. Champ reaches out for her—and that’s when she hears it.

The quiet roar of an engine.

Much like a panther, a Lamborghini rolls onto the scene before them. An Aventador S Roadster, matte black with dark tinted windows. Effectively shocked into a stunned silence, multiple eyes pulled toward the luxury car that is miles above all the others in the parking lot. Their disbelief is deepened when the doors open, rising upwards instead of outwards, a glimpse of red hair ducking beneath them.

“Waverly.” It’s Nicole.

Holy fuck.

Resembling a supermodel fresh off the runway, dressed in a pair of tight fitting blue jeans, a black leather jacket molded to her frame, slender but toned; business casual attire with the silk dress shirt and black tie seen beneath the jacket’s open chest. Auburn hair stylistically messy and equally perfect. Honey-golden eyes hidden behind a pair black sunglasses, aviators, their confusion immortalized in the reflective lenses.

Waverly blinks, “Nicole?”

“Hey baby.” The alpha grins and the brunette waits, unable to breathe. Nicole doesn’t stop moving—stepping onto the sidewalk and walking into the omega’s presence leaving Waverly to angle her body, not out of hesitation, but with intent. Telegraphing the older woman’s next move. She expected a hug, a warm and friendly embrace; instead she feels a hand on either side of her face keeping her still before Nicole moves in to kiss her.

Soft, slow, and oh so sweet, lips vibrating with this burning need to know and feel more. Blood rushing through her ears.

She’s falling. Eyes heavy, they close and the touch of Nicole’s thumb beneath her eye, each stroke, each movement of her lips broadcasting a tranquil confidence, almost docile, but ultimately firm and possessive. Waverly can taste the sweetness on them, on the quiet slip of her tongue.

They part slowly. “I missed you,” Nicole whispers and Waverly can’t help but smile. _Me too._

Chrissy’s jaw is on the floor, eyes bulging from her head like a fish out of water and if Nicole’s presence didn’t warrant the amount of confusion and disbelief, Waverly would have snapped a picture. Said alpha in question, greets the flabbergasted beta with a charming smile before turning her attention to Champ, who stares wide-eyed.

“Who the hell are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, Nicole certainly knows how to make an entrance! Hopefully things won’t be so hectic in the next chapter, maybe something nice and fluffy—then again, this is _me_ we’re talking about haha.
> 
> Also, how’d you guys enjoy the little “backdoor pilot”? 
> 
> —
> 
> As always thank you to everyone who reads, comments, subscribes, bookmarks and leaves kudos, really means a lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Waverly will always remember this moment, the bewildered and absolutely dumbfounded look on Champ’s face. Eyes wide, shock etched into his boyish features as he comes to a slow realization. Tension starts to take hold and the beta’s shaken form dissolves into one that’s more solid, with both feet planted firmly on the ground, he stands straighter. Stretching his spine to his full height, at a near six-feet-two-inches, the height difference, while it isn’t much compared to Nicole who stands at around five-feet-10-inches, gives Champ an ego boost. So much so, he feels a small twinge of superiority and runs with it. Lips curling into a devious smirk.

“I’m Champ Hardy,” he puffs out his chest as he takes a daring step forward, closing the already miniscule gap between himself and the alpha. “Who the  _hell_  are you?”

A moment passes, far too long for Waverly’s comfort before Nicole tilts her head to the side. Brows furrowed as if she were confused by such a question, an almost mocking gesture from the way Champ’s upper lip quivers in response. His beta, while it curls its own lips back into a quiet growl, lowers its body to the ground. Ears flattened, tail tucked between its legs, snapping its teeth in an empty attempt to seem threatening; a glaring contrast that reveals more about him than anything else. Nevertheless, with all of his empty bravado, Champ’s aim to appear bigger than what he truly is, falls flat.

All too reminiscent of high school and all the ill-fated attempts he pulled in order to be viewed by his peers as an equal. For the alpha that ran the school, the culture and social construct within Purgatory High’s walls that lived and died by their discretion, to see him as someone of worth. Elevating his status to the heights of which, he had always wanted, but could never achieve in all their four years of school. Even with managing to secure the most coveted position of wide receiver on the football team, doing so out of sheer luck as one of the few betas to make the cut during tryouts, Champ was still playing catch up. Years later, to this day, Waverly suspects that he still is. Chasing after that sole, unobtainable semblance of peace he so desperately needs to feel complete. So different from the wide-eyed little boy he used to be, sweet and naïve, not caring about what others thought of him. In his place is an adult so disillusioned with the world around him, disregarding everyone with an immense dislike if he couldn’t beat them of join them. Waverly can only for the best of their given situation as he watches him smirk.

She looks to Nicole. Shoulders firm and set; unlike Champ trying to maintain a fortified front and his own beta cowering to the floor and bearing its teeth, the alpha doesn’t move. Instead, she remains impossibly still and regards Champ with barely a dignified glance, looking at him in such a bored manner that ignites a spark of heat to blossom in Waverly’s veins. Her heart starts to race, beating against the walls of her chest like an ominous war drum, deafening as it lurches her and gets caught in her already constricting throat. Nicole, almost comically, tilts her head to the side as if being asked such a question was a baffling absurdity. She opens her mouth and it is there at that moment, that one singular moment in time, she knows—blood rushing through her body rapidly in a never-ending torrent, taking the air out of her lungs and the synapses of her brain shutting off as only one word is allowed to filter through the haze—she  _knows._

Quietly mouthing out the word as it leaves Nicole’s lips: “Hers.”

Waverly can’t breathe. She watches Champ’s brows furrow skeptically, he can’t believe it, and in turn refuses to. Curling his lip back in a defiant snarl only for it to be a high-pitched yelp when Nicole raises a hand. Defensively, he swivels away from the impending strike, beta forcing him back to create enough distance between himself and the alpha for safety. Nicole, however, only shrugs her should at the action, proceeding to run the hand she raised through her hair; she was never going to hit Champ. Nicole’s alpha stands beside her and snorts, staring down at the beta with contempt as it fully lowers itself, laying flat on the ground in complete submission.

Waverly quietly hopes that Champ gets the message his beta has already given and leaves them alone. To her own surprise, he does. He opens his mouth to say something, one last rebuttal, but Nicole’s cutting glare doesn’t let him. The omega swears that she hears a soft, but menacing growl coming from the alpha. Champ narrows his eyes and veers sharply on his heel to walk away, moving quickly as his beta prefers, but enough to completely be seen scurrying away like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Waverly can only imagine what must be going through his mind. The embarrassment, and the humiliation at being so thoroughly forced into submission by someone much stronger than himself, his own beta betraying him in such a debilitating fashion.

With him gone, Nicole finally turns around. Her shoulders, tense as they were beneath the tight fabric of her leather jacket, relax. The lingering tension quickly evaporates and like a switch, Nicole uncrosses her arms from in front of her chest and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Sheepishly, she smiles. Honey-golden eyes alight with mischief. “Was I convincing enough?”

Waverly blinks.

Once, then twice… Absolutely speechless and to her side, Chrissy is just as confused despite being able to regain her own composure much faster. And while Waverly slowly comes to terms with what just transpired before her, starring at the alpha in utter disbelief, a rush of air barrels past her. A hulking brute of a man, tall and sturdy, comes into view before them, his dark skin not enough to hide the flush of rage beneath. He stands toe-to-toe With Nicole, but unlike Champ who stood on shaky ground to the best of his ability and stupidity, the man, a beta, stands firm. Chrissy tries for a greeting, signifying the newcomer as a friend, or at least an acquaintance. One that is closely associated with the world she lived in during her time as Nicole’s contracted partner, the world Waverly is now a part of. But the man is unfazed; he goes straight for Nicole.

In response, Nicole turns to Waverly and Chrissy: “Why don’t you girls take a seat in the car?”

Nicole’s tone is harsher, rougher than Waverly’s ever heard it be. The one she had used for Champ wasn’t like this. It is enough to pique Waverly’s interest and want to remain standing with them, but to her dismay, Chrissy agrees with a squeal and a quick thank you; leaving the omega to follow suit and placate Nicole.

Once the doors come down and lock into place, Chrissy makes herself home in the driver’s seat. Appreciatively running her fingertips over the leather steering wheel, wiggling deeper into the woven carbon fibers of the seat; whistling at the heat warming her backside. Chrissy isn’t a car enthusiast like Wynonna and Ward, and to some extent Willa, but she focuses all her attention on the intricacies of the luxury sports car to distract herself and Waverly. However, with all of Chrissy’s praises for the cool air conditioner, the heated seats, gorgeous matte black paint job—“this is so cool, I’ve never been inside of a Lamorghini before,” and “we always took a limo or her Rolls Royce”—Waverly is far more focuses on the argument she sees outside. The dark, tinted glass muffling all noise she hears; reduced to a warbled mess where only a few sentences can be made out.

“Are you out of your mind?” The man barks, “You were way out of line!”

She watches the way the beta furrows his brows, the easiness of the man’s anger and the alpha’s flippant nature towards him, dismissing his words and appeasing him with counters and promises; there is a familiar twinge to their interaction as thought they’ve been here before. The bodyguard, at least Waverly assumes the man to be Nicole’s bodyguard (because what else could he possibly be), breathes a frustrated sigh and crosses his arms over his chest. No pleased.

“Is this a common thing with them?” Waverly turns towards Chrissy who slows her appraisal of the touchscreen car deck in front of them, removing her fingers from it.

“Dolls, uh, Dolls is a bit protective of her,” Chrissy says. “Yeah, he’s her personal bodyguard and I guess on some level it comes from that, but I think they’re really close friends and he just worries about her.”

Waverly raises a brow. “Worried about what?”

“Everything; like to this day, Waves, I’m still in awestruck at how rich she is and how much she’s in the public eye even if it doesn’t seem like it during these contracts.”

Waverly sits back against the heated seat; hands folded together in her lap, she thinks. Did she just put the alpha in jeopardy? Is there someone out there during the almost-altercation with Champ that snapped a photo of them? Will she go on Twitter or Instagram later and see a poor camera phone quality-made video of Champ trying to dominate and Nicole wiping the floor with him without touching a single hair on his head. God, what if Champ goes, figures out who Nicole is and decides to cause a scene later? A quick glance to Chrissy’s solemn face and Waverly can see the regret, the remorse for establishing the narrative they ultimately chose to run with to keep Champ from thinking that he had any chance of getting back together with Waverly. Feelings of guilt start to take hold as she realizes how she should’ve shot Champ down before all this started.

There is a soft tap against her window and she jumps; not expecting it. She lowers it completely and sees Nicole crouch down against the door. “There’s a get-together tomorrow at Whitewater Country Club, nothing fancy, just a meeting with a colleague of mine. We might be there for a while, you’re free to take advantage of all the facilities the club has to offer, we just need to go shopping because they have a very strict dress code, okay?”

Waverly nods her head, she quickly looks to Chrissy who’s overjoyed at the news with stars in her eyes, there’s no way in the world, the beta wouldn’t let her take advantage of this. A chance to be pampered like some queen with a multitude of servants at her beck and call, Waverly knew this was coming. She just didn’t expect it so soon in the week.

“Sounds great,” she says, much to the alpha’s delight.

“Perfect, now we will be taking the Lambo to 17th Street, Dolls will tow your Jeep back to my place without a single scratch on her,” Nicole promises with an additional salute.

 

 

The ride into the city is quiet. Waverly sits, arms wrapped tightly around her backpack, staring out the window as they pull off the interstate. There is something calming about being in a car and driving through the highway at the time of the day, rush hour hasn’t kicked into effect yet, the sun is still high in the cloudless blue sky, on either side of the lanes is a long line of tall evergreens. The windows are half opened, a nice crisp breeze billowing through into the vehicle as the luxury car speeds through. She does take note of some of the other drivers staring at theme whenever they came to a momentary stop; a main in a Honda Civic stares slack jawed with his face pressed against the glass. Eagerly motioning to his fellow passengers to the Lamborghini, all of them proceed to gawk in a way that reminds Waverly of when Wynonna hauled her to the BMO Centre for four years straight for International Auto Show. Where the men in the Honda at least had the common decency to not just drool like overly excited teenagers, Wynonna showed less tact, always trying to swindle her way into getting a test drive with best car shown on display at the event. Having to resort to using, as the alpha would put it, her “assets”, to get what she wanted. Granted, Wynonna managed to at least be able to sit inside of them, a bright yellow Ferrari being her best catch, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

Still, as calming as the ride into the city is, she can’t help this gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. Beside her Nicole is staring rigidly straight ahead, occasionally tapping her fingers along the steering wheel and rolling her shoulders. Waverly bites her lip. Should she say something? Whether it’d be a question, a simple statement or even start up chit-chat—or anything, really? Is it even her place to do so?

Nicole takes a turn onto 17th Street and Waverly’s brows immediately shoot upwards, eyes widening at the long line of expensive storefronts. Large brand name stores with massive bold print logos; Versace, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada and so many more. The restaurants are pristine, perfect, the omega notices a waiter or tow bringing silver trays of food presented in artistic fashion and pitches of mimosas and bloody marys to a group of customers sitting outside under a sun umbrella in their silk clothing. Seventeenth Street is the rich person’s go-to for clothes shopping, here in Calgary. Waverly knows this because of social media. Instagram. Twitter. Facebook. The countless ads she’s seen on television featuring people with flawless skin and perfect smiles filing in and out of the stores with dozens of bags for the camera. The kind of people that easily flaunt their wealth to millions of their followers to see, like and envy.

She suddenly becomes self-conscious over her discount store backpack and average clothing; this isn’t her world, she doesn’t belong here. That small voice in the back of her head reminding her of it nearly every single day. Its irrational, and maybe even leaning more towards paranoia, but she’s sure that these people around them will know the same.

They stop in front of a Saks Fifth Avenue; a luxury department store with only an estimated 110 stores opened around the world. Catering only to the rich and famous, the incredibly wealthy and influential, Waverly is immediately taken aback at how otherworldly the store is. The storefront appears to be made of alabaster white marble, the building’s exterior walls feature a tile-like design, uniformed and minimalist, the windows themselves are furnished with a gold frame. Within them they showcase mannequins positioned in various poses dressed in the finest clothing imaginable. All beneath a large logo in bold, scripted text wthat shimmers beneath the midday sun; each letter outlined with small lights, Waverly bets the logo and the entirety of the store would look even more impressive at night.

And while it is easy to be overwhelmed with the sheer grandeur of the store and the face that within a few minutes she will actually be inside of it, browsing, shopping, like all the other rich customers who frequent it, the omega it pulled towards Nicole who shuts of the engine. In the most uncharacteristic gesture, according to what little Waverly actually knows about the alpha based on the short amount of time they’ve been together, Nicole  _sighs._  Frustrated, annoyed, a long-suffering sound that is unlike the self-assured woman she has portrayed until now. Hands gripping the steering wheel tight, her black leather driving gloves crinkling at the edges.

“Before we go inside, I would just like to say that I’m sorry.”

Waverly blinks. “W-What…?”

“I’m sorry for the way I acted back there, it was incredibly stupid of me and completely unprofessional of myself to into a situation,  _your_ situation, of which I have absolutely no idea about. The guy you were with could’ve been a suitor, could’ve been an ex-boyfriend, could’ve been someone you were keen on pursuing yourself—hell, he could’ve just been a friend and I, for lack of a better word, fucked it all up.” Nicole unbuckles her seatbelt, muttering quietly about suddenly feeling trapped. She then leans back against the seat, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m really, really, sorry.”

She continues, “If you want to cancel with contract, I completely understand.”

Waverly looks down at her hands. “Champ is my ex-boyfriend, but he isn’t a suitor, a friend and he is far from someone I intend on getting into a relationship again,” she fiddles with her fingers nervously. “I was just walking Chrissy to the Baker Building when he showed up, until you came we were just trying to get rid of him.”

“And he wasn’t taking the hint?”

Waverly shakes her head. She then picks her head up and looks Nicole, her voice suddenly soft and small. “How did you know where I was?”

At this, the alpha shrugs her shoulders and places a tentative hand to the back of her neck. “I really don’t know. I mean I knew your class was over since your class schedule is listed within the guidelines of the contract, and Jeremy’s been made of aware of it so no plans can be made that would cause conflict with your schooling, beyond that I honestly had no clue where to find you exactly. Call it a hunch?”

“A hunch?” Waverly repeats, “Pretty specific hunch if you ask me.”

“I guess,” Nicole takes off her driving gloves, folds them and then places them inside the breast pocket of her jacket. “I still don’t know how I managed to get to you as quickly as I did, I just felt that you were upset and when I found you… I didn’t think; kind of like I sensed—”

“A disturbance in the force?” Waverly tries with a cheeky little grin. Nicole chuckles.

“As if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.”

They share a laugh, a momentary respite they desperately needed. Over a Star Wars quote no less, but once the moment dies down they return to the awkward silence they shared only seconds ago. Waverly can feel Nicole’s agitation, fingers drumming along to the beat of some unknown tune on her knee. “If you still want to cancel this contract, I completely understand. It is no trouble at all and I am more than willing to pay you for all that you’ve done for me, as well as the rest of the week.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

“I can’t in good conscious be able to continue with this knowing how poorly I acted, I should’ve kept in control and I didn’t.”

Waverly narrows her eyes, curious, but doesn’t say a word.

“What if we changed things, or at the very least added something extra to keep things more in line?” She suggests.

Nicole thinks. “That… wouldn’t be such a bad idea; I mean if we just committed to the roles—essentially what we have right now, in some ways, is a dominant-submissive relationship—so committing to it fully ought to make everything much easier.”

“With the original contract still being in place.”

“Of course.” The alpha says. “Just know that you are free to stop everything if you don’t want to continue anymore.”

Waverly’s omega nudges her forward to comfort the alpha, to ease the burden weighing on her shoulders that was in no way her own fault. “I still want to continue this, I-I do, it’s just a bit startling to have someone come out of the blue to defend me no less.” Nicole looks at her in disbelief and pushes Waverly to continue. “We barely know each other, and you were so quick to get Champ to leave that I’m still in shock about it. Don’t really know what to say other than thank you.”

“No need, I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done.” Strangely, those words sound like they couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Still, thank you.”

“Anytime.”

They exit the Lamborghini, Waverly staring in awe as she watches the car door rise into the air instead of outward. And while she could’ve just sat there shell-shocked, she remembers where she is, mentally shakes her head, and puts on a brave face. Despite entering the store with Nicole beside her, she’s sure the regular customers and even the employees can smell a poser from a mile away. Spot the brand names meant for poor people on her clothing and even the worthless value she had to her name just from the way she walked.

The heel of her suede boots click against the freshly waxed linoleum and she pulls the sleeves of her sweater tightly around her middle. More than self-conscious as a security guard regards them with a curt nod. Steel eyes burning into the back of her skull. Only to be followed by some of the looks the other customers were sending their way.

“The club’s dress code is mostly casual attire, anything you would normally wear to a brunch. It just has to be white.” Nicole says as they pass by a rack of off the shoulder tops, each one priced at more than two-hundred dollars.

“Oh okay,” Waverly pauses for a moment to look at a particular top. White in color, scoop neck, cold-shoulder cutout with long sleeves, elasticized cuffs in a pullover style. Relaxed silhouette made from the softest silk material imaginable. She imagines being able to make an outfit with it, coupled with a nice pair of white leggings and some boots. That is until she spots the price tag hanging off one of the cuffs; printed in big bold numbers, $330.99. Add in the tax and the final price would ultimately round upwards to at least, $345.

It’s insane that a top, as pretty as it looks, would cost that much. Costs the same as one of her classes. Nevertheless, she moves away from it hoping to find something at least a bit cheaper. She knows Nicole would be the one to pay for everything on this shopping trip, much like how she did with Chrissy before her. She just can’t, in goodness of her heart, just run wild and grab the most expensive clothes off the rack like some spoiled brat. She can’t take advantage of the alpha’s kindness and, on some level, charity.

“You know, you don’t have to stay in just this section; look around the entire store.”

“You sure, I mean, I don’t really know what to do,” she says. “I-I mean I do know what to do, it’s just I don’t—this isn’t where I usually shop, you know?”

Really. The shops Waverly usually frequents are more for the average consumer. Forever 21, Rue 21, American Eagle, H&M, Wet Seal; the kinds of clothing stores that are more expensive than a discount, mom and pop department store, but affordable. Especially during half-off sales. Stores that are a thousand times more affordable than Saks. A few aisles over, the omega sees a shelf full of croc-embossed leather handbags with a Saint Laurent logo monogramed onto the side in silver, the women flocked around it are chatting and commenting on how cheap the price is. The handbag in question is $2,290.

Nicole tilts her head to the side and makes a non-committal grunt. She whips her head around before making a beeline towards an older woman, with short gray hair and thick rimmed glasses. A pearl necklace hangs around her neck and at first Waverly doesn’t know what she’s doing, until she realizes that the woman is wearing the same black cardigan as the other employees. It’s almost comical at how Nicole practically dwarfs the woman in height.

They’re chatting as if they’re old friends, laughing lightly as they then walk back towards Waverly who stands in the middle of the store like a deer in headlights.

“She’s an absolute sweetheart but is having a bit of trouble trying to find something to wear,” Nicole grins cheekily and the woman nods her head. “Think you can help us out?”

“Of course!” The woman, an omega herself, exclaims with stars in her eyes, turning them towards Waverly and cupping her face, “She is a beautiful girl, very, very beautiful, reminds me of a delicate flower I saw once in America.”

“Waves, Mrs. McClain will help you find whatever you need while I go make a quick phone call.”

Waverly has half a mind to pull Nicole back, to not leave her with this sweet woman, who clearly has no semblance of personal space, but the alpha is gone before she’s able to say anything. Mrs. McClain effortlessly turning the omega around and gently pushing her towards the dressing rooms as they pass through an aisle of dresses. Short, light, brightly colored, perfect for the summer season!

The dressing rooms are abundantly spacious, each wooden doorway leading to an even larger area surrounded by mirrors. The actual dressing room, where Waverly will be changing through a passage way off to the middle behind a raised platform where she assumes she’ll have to stand and model for the older omega.  _Yep,_ she thinks to herself,  _you are definitely not in Forever 21._

“Tell me child, do you have any style in particular?” Mrs. McClain asks as she brings Waverly to the platform, signaling her to turn with her finger.

“Uh, no not really.” Waverly says quietly, “I’m thinking of a dress? Maybe?”

“A dress would be perfect for you; a short one, perhaps?” Mrs. McClain asks with a large grin, “You certainly have the legs for it, off the knee or shorter?”

“Oh, could we try something a bit longer first?” Something short, yeah right. All the dresses she had seen so far were unbearably short, meant for regular nightclubbers and teenagers who like to leave little to the imagination. Not her style, not by a longshot.

“As you wish, dear. Now stay put, I’ll be right back—only white correct?” She nods and the older woman, hopefully takes heed, and leaves Waverly alone in the large room. Almost cavernous, she swears there’s an echo, if she was daring enough to prove it.

To keep herself occupied, she decides to call Wynonna and see how the family’s held up in her absence. Or maybe just to check if the homestead was still standing.

Wynonna picks up on the second ring and Waverly is more than relieved to hear her sister’s voice, even if it is slightly slurs. A quick glance to look at the time and she shakes her head, “Really, Wynonna? It isn’t even one o’ clock in the afternoon and you’re already drinking.”

“Excuse you, babygirl, but I’m just having a late brunch. The devil incarnate—you were supposed to hear it asshole—tried her hand at making Bloody Mary and I think, a Harvey Wallbanger.” Waverly rolls her eyes. “We’re trying to come up with a signature drink to serve at the bar and—yes,  _we_ , I’m the goddamn Guinea pig here!”

“Don’t listen to a goddamn thing Willa says, it’s nothing but lies.” She doubts that but decides to take Wynonna at her word for it, it’s not like if they continued at this rate, she’d remember anything.

“Just remember not to get too drunk, you know Daddy doesn’t like it when you’re out of it while he’s not around.”

“I know, I know, but I’m taking care of myself, eating my weight in Wheat Thins to keep from going overboard.” Not the smartest thing to do, but she’s too far from them to actually reprimand them and doing so over the phone doesn’t have the same effect. “Anyways, how’s the nerd convention Waves?”

“It’s called Comic Con, Wyn, I’ve told you guys this hundreds of times and it’s going great, thanks for asking.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all the same shit. Mind getting me that red and yellow helmet, damn what’s it called?” There’s an audible snap of fingers then, “Iron Man. Mind getting me Iron Man’s helmet?”

“Uh, I’m not sure if I can,” Waverly replies.

“Just try please? Oh and Willa wants Titan’s glove.”

“You mean,  _Thanos’ glove_.”

“Yeah that, although I feel like she just wants to hit me with it.”

“That wouldn’t be surprising,” Waverly laughs, just as Mrs. McClain returns with three dresses. “Wynonna, I’ve got to go, talk later?”

“Hopefully I’m still alive later.”

“You will be, bye.”

“Bye babygirl.”

The first dress Waverly tries on is a bright cotton fit-and-flare dress with unique gathering for extra texture along the waist line. A relatively short v-neck, short sleeves, bake yoke styled pullover with a viscose lining. Flaring out loosely from the hips, the hem of the dress sitting just at the middle of thigh. Turning around in a circle on the platform, each side being viewed from the mirrors leaving nothing unseen. From the Carven brand, perfect for a stylish, casual day out.

“What do you think, dear?” Mrs. McClain asks, hopeful.

“Not exactly me,” Waverly bites her bottom lip, not wanting to sound like a brat she quickly adds, “but I do like the look of it.”

“I understand, fear not we have two more dresses to try out and if not, we won’t leave here until you fall in love with something.”

“Great.”  _Oh, dear God…_

The second is a bell sleeved dress with ladder lace trimming, v-neck as well as a pullover, elbow-length sleeves, made entirely of polyester and spandex. Tight-fitting, Waverly can barely seem to breathe within it as the material pushes everything into a constrictive hold. It’s white, but unlike the first one, there is some gold gently lining the bottom hem of the dress, the sleeves, around her waist and just beneath her breasts to form a v-shape. The dress is beautiful and while it does sit just an inch or two higher on her thighs than the first, she’s in awe of it. But not enough to fully settle for it.

“Messina Bell Sleeve Dress from LIKELY,” Mrs. McClain says, “We can complete the look with a pair of sandals from Stuart Weitzman, very chic.”

“I like it, but it doesn’t really—”

“Say no more, I’ll fetch you our final dress, this one will certain turn heads,” the older omega shoos her away to the changing area. So sure that Waverly will fall in love with the final dress, as if she purposely saved it for last.

Waverly changes out the Bell Sleeve Dress, arms wrapped around her middle as she stands in the small changing room in her bra and underwear; feeling more than a little naked. Her only solace is the quiet as she hears Mrs. McClain softly hum to herself an old song, she’s never heard before.

“I tell you sweetheart, it always warms my heart when couples come into the store.”

What? Did she really think that Nicole and herself were a couple? They are on two opposite sides of the spectrum, rich and poor, how on earth would she have come to that conclusion? Nevertheless, enough silence has gone by and Waverly has to respond. “Really?”

She couldn’t crush the poor woman, not when she’s been so helpful and sweet.

“Oh yes, you’d be surprised at how little you see that here,” Mrs. McClain says, albeit sadly, “Usually it’s just these older married couples that act like there isn’t a single spark left in their relationship or these young teenagers just looking for the most expensive thing to buy off their parents’ credit cards.”

Mrs. McClain comes toward the back and hands her the new dress. “It’s like romance is dead, and I may be an old woman who doesn’t understand today’s youth, but there used to be something to courtship and wooing.” While Waverly pulls the dress over her head, the older woman continues. “I remember when my husband Walter and I first met, he was such a gentleman.”

“Did everything he could possibly do to stand out from all the other suitors, he wasn’t the biggest nor was he the strongest, but he understood me better than the rest,” Waverly stops and listens, a smile gracing her lips.

“He sounds perfect.”

“In a way he is, with all his faults,” Mrs. McClain sighs. “I knew from the moment he stood at my doorstep, hair combed back, wilting flowers and all, that he was the one. My mate.”

Waverly’s knees threaten to buckle, legs on the verge of giving out on her, until she opens the wooden door to the changing room and is greeted with Mrs. McClain’s smiling face. The older omega gently ushering her back to the display area full of mirrors and onto the platform. Zipping up the back of her dress.

The dress is cut from a lightweight fabric, featuring cold shoulders with slightly ruffled sleeves. Pristine and white, wrap front with tie closure, leaving a long slit up the left side. Leaving her left leg, bare and out for the world to see while the dress in its entirety pools around her feet on the floor. A tight fit around her waist, but ultimately light and flowy, giving the sense that she could twirl around in a circle and not feel restricted. Could do so like a princess.

“I give to you, the Acme Dress by Privacy Please, an absolute godsend of a dress, perfect for any occasion and…” Mrs. McClain’s voice trails off as Waverly finishes her turn on the platform, hand to her chest. _“Bellissimo, mio caro!”_

“Absolutely beautiful, sweetheart, this dress is the one. Don’t you think?”

Waverly opens her mouth to reply, but there’s a knock on the dressing room door. “Waverly?”

“Hold that thought dear,” Mrs. McClain smiles, skipping to the door. She comes back with Nicole hunched over, covering the alpha’s eyes with her hands. “Okay, three, two, one…”

Mrs. McClain removes her hands and Nicole opens her eyes. Waverly’s heart starts to race, Nicole stands there not uttering a single word.

“I think she’s speechless, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waverly's Dresses: [Cotton Pique Fit-and-Flare Dress by CARVEN](https://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?PRODUCT<>prd_id=845524447245255&clickType=RECENTLY_VIEWED), [Messina Bell Sleeve Dress by LIKELY](https://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?FOLDER<>folder_id=2534374306422153&PRODUCT<>prd_id=845524447217528&R=791093598016&P_name=LIKELY&N=306422153&bmUID=meV.UCz) and [Acme Dress by Privacy Please](http://www.revolve.com/privacy-please-acme-dress-in-yellow/dp/PRIP-WD261/?d=F&sectionURL=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2F).
> 
> \--
> 
> I know this one was a long time coming, but I can assure you that I'm making more of an effort to update more often. On that note, there are 5 fics (including _Dirty Mind_ ) that I'm working on simultaneously. Visit [Tumblr](https://vodkabite.tumblr.com/tagged/update) for daily updates. As always thank you for reading, commenting, subscribing, bookmarking and giving kudos. I really appreaciate it!


	8. Chapter 8

After several long seconds of silence, Nicole finally speaks and only utters a single word— _ “Wow,” _ —before realizing that she’s been staring this whole time, wide-eyed and speechless. She then stutters through the next few words that follow, failing to save face. The makings of a blush coloring her cheeks a light pink.

Beside her Mrs. McClain giggles, clapping her hands in delight, her dark brown eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

And Waverly, under the alpha’s intense gaze, fiddles with the sides of the dress nervously, face burning up with either a blush or embarrassment; she can’t tell which.

“I’d say that this dress is an absolute keeper, isn’t it?” The older omega says, “Would you like me to ring it up?”

Nicole looks to Waverly for confirmation, saying yes when the omega nods her head.

Waverly could only imagine what the dress and everything else Mrs. McClain found for her would cost once the price tags are scanned in the checkout aisle. She wonders, does Saks Fifth Avenue even have one of those? Waverly didn’t both to check on her way in, too busy being bombarded by silk, gold, marble and the special sale signs for items marked twenty-percent off their original thousand dollar price.

Standing beside the alpha, Waverly watches curiously as Mrs. McClain scans the price tags of the dresses. The numbers on the cash register monitor, touchscreen and streamlined, continuing to increase with every item. The Cotton Pique Fit-And-Flare Dress from Carven, $490; the Messina Bell Dress from LIKELY, $228; the Acme Dress by Privacy Please, $228; along with a wide array of heels and jewelry Nicole must have found while Waverly was in the changing area. Including the pair of Stuart Weitzman heels Mrs. McClain had mentioned before. As well as a couple of handbags, one of them being a leather-bound monogrammed Saint Laurent handbag, exclusively made lin Italy, priced at a whopping $3,750!

With everything scanned and placed delicately in white bags, the cash register monitor beneath a long list of items, reveals their total purchase at a staggering $9,337. Waverly’s eyes widen in disbelief, unable to keep them from looking like giant saucers as Nicole pulls out a shimmering black card from her wallet (name and numbers lined in gold no less).

The older omega swipes the card and not a single thing is out of place, no air horn blaring at maximum volume for the entire store to know that her credit card had been declined, there’s no obsessive watching on the alpha’s part to monitor her own credit score on her phone. Not even the timeless ritual of absently gnawing off the skin of her thumb, praying that she’d be able to have enough money for her next outing.

“Is there anything else you two would like?" Mrs. McClain asks with an easy smile as though she didn't just ring up almost ten grand.

"That’s alright," Nicole then looks to Waverly. "Unless there's anything more you'd like?"

Waverly shakes her head, pulling the corner of her bottom lip beneath her teeth softly. She couldn’t imagine being able to stay standing and watch the price of their shopping trip go any higher. Doing so would result in her fainting!

Nicole puts the card away along with the receipt. Waverly wonders if there was ever a time where the alpha had gone through financial hardships. But knowing that Nicole is the heir to a seven-hundred-year-old dynasty and the next queen of France, should the country ever decide to reinstate the monarchy, it’s impossible to see her as a twelve-year-old running around with worn-out sneakers and living in a house in need of massive repairs.

“There you go sweetheart,” Mrs. McClain says with a bright smile, “I hope to see you both very soon.”

“Likewise,” Nicole replies, grabbing the bags before Waverly can reach for the handles. “I’ve got this.”

Waverly murmurs a quiet goodbye, not even sure if the older omega can even hear her. But the soft smile she receives tells her as much before she’s off, briskly walking to catch up to Nicole.

Once settled in the Lamborghini, after Waverly had mistakenly made a double take looking for her cherry red Jeep, they head back home.

Well, Nicole's mansion to be exact.

The car ride is peaceful, better than what it was before. The atmosphere isn't heavy with tension, she doesn't feel as guilty as she did before and can actually enjoy the heated seat warming her backside.

There is a comfortable silence between them and Waverly takes the moment to stare out the window at all the passing evergreens.

"You looked beautiful in that dress," Nicole says.

"T-Thank you," Waverly flitters between the window, her lap, and the glove compartment. "For the dresses, the jewelry, the heels and the handbags."

"It's no big deal, happy to do it."

"Still, I feel like I should say sorry for all that happened with Champ at Ghost River.  _ Again. _ "

"Well," Nicole smiles, "If it makes you feel any better, the jewelry is actually an apology—I found Calamity Jane playing with one of your bracelets in the upstairs hallway, knowing her she'll never give it back."

"Aww, that's okay." Waverly had her own run-in with that tiny terror herself and was certain from the second they met, she would never see her bracelet ever again. She's made peace with it. Pretty much had to.

“Believe it or not, she actually likes you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, instead of purring or rubbing up against you like a normal cat, mine just steals the first shiny thing she knows is yours,” there’s a small smile of disbelief. “Huh… my cat’s a klepto. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Well I think it’s adorable, she does this sort of thing often?”

“That's just it, CJ isn’t the type to open up so quickly. Took two months for her to get used to Shae when we were dating, three months for her to forgive me when I changed her food.”

They share a laugh, a giggle really, before returning to that easy, awkward silence they shared. Aided by the soft vibrations of the carbon fiber seats and the hum of the Lamborghini's engine, Waverly figures that Nicole senses it too when she continues after momentarily stopping behind an SUV. "What about you? Any pets?"

Waverly shakes her head. "Oh no, never."

The Earps never had enough money for themselves, always living day to day, paycheck to paycheck. When she was eleven, the boiler in the basement and broken down of after years of use and the only way she and her sisters could stay warm was to huddle together in the same tiny beds; staying at Aunt Gus' apartment above Shorty's when the weather was extremely cold while Ward and Uncle Curtis worked tirelessly trying to fix it with what they knew.

So, a pet, whether it'd be a cat, a dog, or even a goldfish, would have never worked out.

"Pets weren't really something we were able to afford," The omega says. "Not for lack of wishing, mind you."

"Well maybe this weekend, you'll go home with a furry little friend of your own?"

"What?" She sputters. "Oh no, no, no, t-that's unnecessary."

"Probably." Nicole's voice is casual and light, even as they reach the wrought iron gates of Remus Pointe. Stopping behind an obnoxiously large yellow Hummer. Opening her wallet and passing her ID over to the guard at the entrance when it's her turn.

And just like before, the guard barely regards Waverly with so much as a disdainful look. She sinks further into the passenger's seat. Relieved when they’re let through.

When they arrive at Nicole's mansion, Waverly, reminded of where she is, is taken aback by the sheer size of it. Her cherry red Jeep sitting beside the alpha's Rolls Royce. Bright and incredibly colorful, it looks out of place compared to the rest of the mansion's black and white aesthetic. Massive, Waverly can only wonder how many rooms are in the house in total, how many are dedicated to working, to living, or to pleasure.

Maybe there is a playroom somewhere that is dedicated to actual entertainment and not sex.

But as she steps foot into the foyer, Nicole's back to her while she turns on the security system, she takes another look around. This time feeling a bit richer with bags full of expensive clothing in her hands. She doesn't feel as small as she did before, of course, she's not on the same level as Nicole or anyone else she's met in this new world. But, she feels exponentially bigger.

“You know," Nicole starts, turning around. "I've noticed that you bite your lip a lot when you’re nervous.”

“Oh, really?" She blushes. "I-I hadn’t noticed.”

And then, for some inexplicable reason, possibly the fading remnants of the adrenaline pumping through their veins from the earlier transgression with Champ at Ghost River, the air is electric. The space between them charged and magnetic. Her bottom lip quivers with anticipation, heart pounding uncontrollably against her chest. She bites it.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Sorry I—”

Within seconds, Nicole lunges at her. She isn’t pushed against a wall or one of the pillars forming the archway leading into the living room, instead Nicole’s hands have her in a vice-like grip. Pinning the omega’s small frame against her own, fingers curling hard around the back of her neck and a thumb right over the soft spot over her jugular and beneath her jaw. Roughly taking and claiming her mouth, all teeth and bite; a bruising kiss that leaves Waverly breathless.  _ Moaning. _

Waverly closes her eyes, but just as she settles into the alpha’s arms and tastes the slightest bit of pleasure her omega howls for a harsh sting tears them apart. Dazed, she opens her eyes and sees Nicole’s eyes burn crimson. Bright and hypnotic, the dark of her blood on the alpha’s lips illuminating the faint glint of fangs.

“Thirty minutes…” Nicole is breathless, “I want you in the playroom in thirty minutes. No more, no less. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

 

 

Thirty minutes.

That’s all she was given to get ready and Waverly hurries to her room, not wanting to waste any more time than she already had standing in the middle of the mansion’s foyer, stunned.

Immediately she takes all of her clothes off and jumps into the shower. It takes her a moment to figure out the knobs, still not used to them, before stepping underneath the showerhead. The hot spray of water massaging the tense muscles in her back, loosening them up as they shake in anticipation. This agreement they settled on, to continue the contract for the rest of the week, fully committing to their roles as dominant and submissive with a new, more proactive attitude, leaves Waverly wondering.

What more does the alpha have in store for her?

Would the various items she saw around the playroom be implemented?

Would she feel the sting of a riding crop against her ass?

The harsh metal of a pair of handcuffs digging into her wrists or the leather of a whip snapping along the skin of back?

Good god, she thinks suddenly, punishments?

Waverly would be an absolute liar if she said she never did more to prep beyond looking up the basic terminology for BDSM. It isn’t her proudest moment, but she couldn’t help it: lying awake at night to browse the many different porn sites the internet had to offer for an idea on what BDSM sex looked like.

The number of videos she went through on any given night is mind numbing. Probably setting some sort of sleazy new world record out there. Going through a multitude of categories and tags that seemed endless with how much of a market there is for fetishes ranging from the tame and kinky to downright weird and taboo.

And the sheer number and variety of instruments used in these videos tagged with ‘BDSM’ and ‘dom/subs’ was a bit overwhelming at first. But after several dozen videos, Waverly had come to the point of becoming desensitized.  _ Almost. _

There are still a couple of videos that left her slack-jawed in shock and awe.

One of a male omega on their hands and knees, blindfolded, cuffed and bound as they moved against a… What was it called? A _ fuck machine,  _ perhaps? The device had no other function but to thrust a translucent purple dildo inside of the omega as per the dominant’s wishes. Said dominant controlling the device with a small box, turning the dial that would either increase or decrease the speed at which the machine moved.

The video, twenty-four minutes and thirty-eight seconds long, ultimately ends with the omega twitching and spent on the table they were propped upon. No aftercare was shown.

From there, it took Waverly at least three days before revisiting this researching venture into the unknown world of videos categorized underneath the BDSM banner. Granted, most of the videos she had to mindlessly sift through were more for shock value than to arouse. What was considered dirty talk in these ten to twenty-minute-plus long videos were akin to the harshest forms of degradation she had ever heard in her life.

Her father yelling at the television when the USA beat Canada at ice hockey in the last winter Olympics wasn’t as crude as what was being passed off as “dirty talk” in these videos. Waverly thanks stone-cold resiliency as the one Earp trait she’s glad to have inherited.

Nevertheless, her foray into watching porn of this nature hadn’t been completely sullied by these insane videos. There were a few hidden gems, diamonds really, that she managed to find. They were much longer, far more realistic and most of all, included aftercare.

A video of an alpha/omega pair, both females, standing out amongst the others. The entire performance was a slow build, set to soft music no less. The alpha was so sweet and attentive, even as she was rutting away between the omega’s legs, cooing soft words into their ear.

Jesus, Waverly thinks, pressing her thighs together at the memory.

Her mind starts to drift, from images of the playroom’s dark wine-colored walls and velvet-soft bed, the dimmed lighting and the iron grid mounted on the ceiling. Fingers dancing along her skin, pirouetting up and down her spine. Playing a soft song along the curves of her body, striking up towards a crescendo right where she needs her until finally dissipating with a silent bow. Colors playing behind her eyelids, the room and all it’s dark furniture suddenly melting away like watercolors running down the canvas.

Pooling at the bottom into that of a vibrant green garden; rose bushes as far as the eye can see with a large fountain in the center. Quiet and peaceful, the only sound she hears is that of someone purring. Soft, deep, from the center of the chest and as if on cue, a pair of arms wrap themselves around her middle.

Pulled from her ever-deepening thoughts, she hears her phone go off. Shutting off the shower, Waverly grabs a bathrobe from the bathroom cabinet and exits, finding her phone vibrating upon the arrival of two text messages on her lockscreen.

Both from Wynonna.

The first reads:  _ Dad wants to know if you can get him a lightsaber. _

The second:  _ Oh, and he wants to make sure you don’t make any plans on Sunday, family dinner and all that. _

Waverly unlocks her phone and types out a quick reply before locking it and finishing up. Just a few days left on her contract and she’ll be back to being the same woman she was before, living the life of ordinary, completely average college student.

At least this time, she’ll have the weight of her college tuition off her back.

With only several minutes left, she quickly pockets the phone and quickly heads downstairs, not wanting to upset Nicole and have the alpha believe she couldn’t follow simple directions.

Although, there is a part of her that is curious to know what disobeying the alpha would lead to. What a punishment by Nicole’s hands would look and feel like. She could certainly go slow, pushing over the allotted time she was given just to find out, but instead, she stands before the black doors of the playroom and knocks. Knuckles rhythmically rapping against the golden embossed triskele insignia, in the center of the triple-spiral symbol because doing so anywhere else seemed a bit blasphemous.

In another scenario, another life probably, this could’ve been considered her walk of shame. Lord knows she’s seen her sisters do it loads of times; walking through the homestead’s front doors in the early morning wearing the same clothes they had on the night before. Willa doing it with far more grace and class than Wynonna. The latter always looking so disheveled even after their father had pleaded several times for her to at least clean up becoming home.

“Bad enough I always have some inkling as to what you’ve done,” he told her once over breakfast. “I don’t want to see the aftermath of it.”

Willa once made a joke about the chances of their father witnessing the aftermath of a one-night stand in the form of a child and that just led to a three-hour lecture about safe sex, condoms, birth control, suppressants and how things were so much simpler back in his day.

Worse still, Waverly has done a few walks of shame herself.

Prom night is one such horrid example.

Coming home as well put together as she possibly could, Waverly just wanted to hop into the shower and go to bed. But her sisters, annoyingly nosy as they are, wanted a run-down of everything that happened once prom was over and everyone moved to the afterparty for all the real fun.

To her credit, she’s able to lie to her sisters about how magical it was with a stupid love-struck smile on her face. Wynonna made a face akin to wanting to vomit, but smiles, believing her words easily.

Willa, on the other hand, is far more observant.

There’s a chance that the eldest Earp sister probably knows or at least has some sort of idea that Waverly was lying about experiencing a wonderful fairytale-like moment the average high schooler dreams of when finally losing their virginity. But she’s never once said anything, and Waverly isn’t about to bring it up either.

Even after graduating and Gus and Curtis hiring her as a part-time waitress at Shorty’s, she was still forced to lie to herself and others when asked about it. Putting on that dreamy, starry-eyed look when having to remember her first time; because you never forget it.

Regaling Chrissy and whoever else asked with a falsified story of how unbelievably perfect everything was. Fireworks exploding in the end like in all the cheesy romantic movies. Boy gets the girl, everyone cheers, all the songs on the radio suddenly make sense—all the things that didn’t happen.

Her virgin deflowering nothing more than a poorly written, half-assed, five-minute amateur porno, than anything Oscar-worthy.

In the quiet of the playroom, still and anxiously numb, Waverly waits patiently.  Because  _ fuck _ , what else is there to do?

She’s placed the entirety of well-being in a complete stranger for the duration of an entire week on the belief that their contract is as legitimate as they come. That Chrissy, her best friend, having done this before wouldn’t have ever mentioned this to Waverly or have ever taken part in anything like this herself if she thought her safety was in doubt. Safety of her body, her health, her mind—

“You think too much.”

Waverly jumps at the voice. Nicole’s presence is solid behind her, eyes burning holes into the back of her head with enough force she can feel the heat along the nape of her neck. Omega whimpering, head tilted to the side in order to bare her neck. Helplessly falling back when she feels the alpha’s lips brush against her neck softly, the rise and fall of her chest as she greedily takes in her scent.

She whines a little, when Nicole pulls away, before gasping when a thick cloth is placed over her eyes.

A blindfold.

Waverly didn’t think they’d be doing this again. But unlike the first time, she isn’t as nervous. Instead, she furrows her brows and questions as to why they’re using the blindfold again. To which Nicole responds with a single touch to the middle of her back, fingertips pressing hard into her lower pack and forcing Waverly to stand straighter.

“The first time was to get you used to my touch, through the use of all your other senses.” Nicole runs her fingers up the omega’s spine. “This time, we will do the same except for pleasure.”

“Oh,” is all Waverly can say.

Her palms start to sweat. Clammy and wet, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The edge of the bed brushes against her knee and it shocks her. Electricity shooting up her veins as her mind starts to race. The first time was a preliminary round, barely a tutorial.

Now the real test would begin.

“As always, just say the safeword and we’ll stop. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

She shivers. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Nicole says softly pressing a kiss to Waverly’s forehead.

The first thing Nicole does is to stand in front of Waverly, fingertips grazing along the skin beneath the hem of her shirt before trailing over moving lower. The slightest dip of a single digit behind the waistband of her jeans only to pull out and Waverly to then feel both hands lightly running upwards over her body. To her shoulders and then down her arms, a blaze of goosebumps left in their wake before those hands come around her own. Fingers linked together, she swears the alpha can feel her apprehension.

But Nicole doesn’t it make known that she does. Instead, she lowers her head and places another kiss on the omega’s forehead. Then her cheek. Pulling the collar of her shirt open to place another on her bare shoulder. Before finally coming back up and kissing the side of her mouth. Each one featherlight and ghost to the touch.

“Kiss me.”

Waverly, licks her lips and before she tentatively presses them against the alpha. It’s small, not sure what kind of kiss Nicole wants or even if she should take the initiative and lead, but she tries. Heart racing, beating against the drums of her ears, for a single minute Waverly can’t breathe. Pulling away desperate and fearful, she turns her head from Nicole.

“W-Wait,” she says. “I don’t think I can do this. I-I can’t—”

Hands grip either side of her face and pull her forward into a bruising kiss. Harsh for a moment before softening. Warm, full lips breathing life just as easy as they take the breath from her lungs.

“You’re thinking too much baby,” the alpha whispers. “Turn your brain off, okay?”

Another kiss. “Turn it off, you must be so tired.”

The omega whimpers.  _ So much. _

Nicole motions for one more kiss and this time, Waverly responds wholeheartedly; surprising herself and maybe Nicole as well. The caress of her lips fitting with the alpha in a way she had never known before. The warmth she finds is spellbinding and to chase after it, she tastes with the tiniest bit of her tongue as she can manage. Nicole opens her mouth with a low moan, to let her in.

They continue kissing, doing so as easy as it is to breathe. Stopping only when Nicole grabs the hem of Waverly’s shirt and pulls it over the omega’s head. Waverly gasps at the rush of cool air hitting her now bare chest. But she doesn’t stop there. Her bra is snapped open and the straps are slid off her arms and then thrown somewhere beside them. Next, Nicole undoes the button of her jeans and peels them off, along with her panties, until she is left naked and bare. Only centimeters away from the alpha.

Her knees start to shake, curling her shoulders inward. If Waverly could, she would stare down at her feet. But with the blindfold and the lack of response and motion from the alpha, she is left unnerved by the familiar thoughts that plague her mind.

Waverly Earp, for the harsh words said by the voice in the back of her head and the numbing experiences of the past, is resigned to believe that she isn’t beautiful. Not even a word, synonymous but smaller in design as  _ pretty _ or  _ cute _ could be attributed to her.

Her legs, slender and toned from years of constant work, left much to be desired in comparison to others. All hard muscle and little softness, far from the stereotypical omega form she was expected to have. And when her body started to change around the age of thirteen, she took notice of how different she looked compared to the girls around her. They had big full hips that wrapped down around smooth thighs, their chests full, heavy over dainty waists, leaving many to gaze and lust after. Their popularity and worth seemingly tied to how physically attractive others considered them to be. On how suitors, of either breed, would fantasize and fight over the opportunity to stand within their presence.

Waverly remembers how often in the locker room, before and after cheerleading practice and home games, her teammates would gossip about their latest conquest. Comparing notes and discussing their experiences with sex far more enthusiastically than with their schoolwork. While the omega sat back, keeping herself occupied chatting with Chrissy about whatever nonsense to keep from looking down at her own body in disappointment.

“I want you to talk freely.” Waverly snaps her head up in the alpha’s direction, straight ahead.   
Waverly bites her lip. “S-Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“And scared.”

Waverly doesn’t say a word and fiddles with her fingers. Nicole cups her chin and tilts her head upwards, nose to the ceiling. “Keep your head up, baby; there’s nothing for you to feel ashamed about.”

Nicole’s lips brush against her jaw, down to her neck. Kissing and licking, sucking a bruise against her pulse that skyrockets her heart into a furious climb. The blood vessels burst, blossoming into a deep, purplish color that leaves the omega whining from the lack of blood being drawn. Nicole leaves several more across her neck and along her collarbone, finishing up with pressing her nose against Waverly’s chest and inhaling her scent. The moan she lets out, pulling away once she’s had her fill, is breathless and greedy.

The alpha wants more, growling impatiently.

She senses the bed dip. Nicole, no longer standing in front of her, sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Waverly closer. Thighs pressing tightly on either side of the omega’s legs, keeping her there. Nicole’s hands settle on her waist, the pads of her fingers rubbing circles into the skin.

“You shouldn’t be so critical of yourself, we all have our flaws, things we’re insecure about, but that doesn’t mean you are any less of a person for them.”

Nicole clears her throat, “Your ex-boyfriend, Chump, is it?”

Waverly shakes her head and smiles, “It’s Champ Hardy.”

“Close enough,” there’s a playful tone to Nicole’s voice, aided by the soft caress on her hips. But then it becomes serious with a twinge of revulsion. “He was your first, wasn’t he?”

Nicole continues. “You lost your virginity to him?”

Waverly nods.

“What did he do?”

She furrows her brows, not understanding what Nicole was getting at. “Say it.”

“H-He, he didn’t care. He just wanted to be like the alphas on the football team, he wanted to be popular. At least for a little while until graduation.”

“And how did he touch you?”

Waverly shakes her head, balling her hands into fists at her sides, not wanting to take herself back to that night. Preferring to take solace in the fact that no one knows of how desperately she jumped into the shower afterward to wash every single reminder of it from her body. Scrubbing hard against her skin to remove the memory of Champ’s clumsy hands touching her in the back seat of the limo to the way they pawed her skin at his house, in an effort to find some sort of peace.

Because God, did she scrub. Until her skin was raw, reddened and blotchy, determined to forget. A rinse and repeat of washing and scrubbing until her hands started to hurt from holding on to the loofah too hard. The hot water stinging the sensitive skin with a hiss, reminding her that she would never forget.

Nicole holds her tighter.  _ Tell me, please? _

“Champ was… He, he was clumsy. Rough.”

“Did you tell him no?”

Waverly shakes her head. “I wanted it, I thought I was ready for it.”

“But he wasn’t, and in his bid to be one of the cool kids, he sacrificed your comfort and peace of mind. Ruined your first time and made you believe that you were at fault.”

“In fact,” Nicole pauses for a second before suddenly, the blindfold is no more. “You weren’t blindfolded then, so you won’t be today.”

Waverly blinks several times, getting used to the dim lighting of the playroom. Shaken by the way Nicole sits perfectly still on the bed, watching her with cautious eyes. The light in her golden irises fading the same way the sun sets, disappearing past the horizon and leaving a cold blackness in place of the heat it takes with it. But in the darkness, her honey-golden eyes are lined with an unrepentantly harsh, vibrant shade of red.

Eyes alight with curiosity, Waverly reaches out to touch the alpha. Hand caressing her cheek, thumb softly rubbing the skin beneath her eye, running over the small beauty mark at the corner. Alpha leaning into the omega’s touch, softly purring.

She licks her lips and without thinking, Waverly leans forward and gives Nicole the lightest of kisses. Her entire body put on edge as a sudden wave of alarm hits her when there’s no response. Cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, ready to pull away and berate herself for taking a step too far and breaking protocol until a warm hand slides into her hair to keep her still. An iron grip, as though Nicole was afraid she’d slip through her fingers.

The kiss is soft, intoxicating, tasting of vanilla dipped donuts and Waverly, unabashedly, wants more. Readily parting her lips when she feels a pink tongue instantly searches out hers. Slice and clever, a rush of heat blossoming in the heart of her chest. Breaking away when a hand slithers up her thighs. A finger teasing her folds, pad circling her clit with tentative strokes. Each one shooting sparks of electricity through the omega’s veins. In turn, placating and soothing every spark, Nicole kisses her way up Waverly’s stomach. Ending her ascent by closing around a stiff nipple. Waverly goes rigid, a shiver running down her spine when she feels teeth, sharp and rough against the tender bud. Teasing and tugging, a litany of moans pulled from Waverly’s throat.

Swollen and raw from Nicole’s attention, she is soothed only by the alpha’s tongue with tender care. That is until she resumes the same actions with her other nipple. Waverly runs her fingers into Nicole’s silky hair, tightening her hold as she feels a single digit slip inside. Just the tip, moving deeper slowly. A promise of what is took come soon.

Nicole releases Waverly’s nipple with an audible pop. Goosebumps prickling along the omega’s arms as she feels the alpha slide her free hand down her back and to her waist, Nicole’s own lips following suit. Leaving a trail of kisses down her stomach, each one lighting a fuse and feeding the fire burning under her skin. Suddenly, her back is against the bed.

Sinking into the soft mattress beneath her, Waverly instinctively grabs hold of the first thing she can reach, the pillows and the velvet bed sheets, to stay grounded. But the feeling of being secure and stabilized is short-lived, the alpha grabbing her by the waist and flipping the omega onto her belly. Leaving her on an edge and to float aimlessly.

Positioned on hands and knees, Waverly shudders. She turns her head to glimpse at Nicole through the curtain of her hair. Still clothed, clad in a simple black bra and jeans, the omega in her huffs. The thought of being the one to undress the alpha the way she had done to her is tempting, so much so, a tremor is unleashed within her fingers that can only be stopped by balling her hands into fists.

The bed dips with the added weight of Nicole joining her. Kneeling behind her, mirroring her position on the large bed. One hand gracefully glides its way up Waverly’s backside to her to the middle of her shoulders, pushing down gently while the other settles against her waist and raising her hips. Upper body lying flat against the bed while her ass is propped up into the air akin to a precious offering, Waverly shivers. Tenderly, Nicole kisses her inner thighs in a show of supple devotion as though every part of her body deserved the same attention; each kiss pulling her legs apart until Waverly can feel Nicole’s hot breath against her sex.

In anticipation, her breath hitches. Holding the air within her lungs for a brief moment before caving in with a gasp. Nicole’s tongue, wet and skillful, licks at her folds tentatively. Torturously slow, flattening the length of it against her core with long broad swipes while the tip teases clit maddeningly.

“Oh fuck,” Waverly arches her back, gripping the bed sheets tightly.

Nicole continues. A litany of whines and whimpers are pulled from Waverly’s throat, escaping from her mouth in this high-pitched sound that could only be referred to as that ‘fake pornstar moan’. A sound that encompasses all the audio of an impossibly perverse and graphic adult film that grates on the ears of the average, decent human being.

“Mmmmh…” She lets out a moan, deep from the pit of her stomach and center of her chest, a sound that is incredibly foreign to her own ears.

“That’s it, baby, let it all out.” A symphony is written into her walls. Musical notes and lyrics painting her all over until there isn’t an inch of skin left unmarked.

Waverly pants. Nails clawing at the sheets until she’s sure the fabric comes apart beneath them. That is until Nicole becomes distant, a look of shock forms on Waverly’s face when a quick slap is ushered against her ass.

Waverly’s mouth falls open, _ “Daddy!” _

The sudden sting makes Waverly gasp, rocking forward to change into a position that best soothes the pain there. But Nicole’s hand kneads the reddening flesh, the sensitive, rounded curve just before joining cheek and thigh.

“A reminder: don’t be so complacent with what you are given.”

Adrenaline surges, seizing up into a strange mix of anxiety and expectancy.

A fingertip moves upwards, teasing the rim of her hole. “Every single part of you is deserving. Only a fool would not understand that.”

Waverly squeezes her eyes shut and bites her lip, the fire bubbling at the pit of her stomach sizzles. She feels her mouth go hollow and her own arousal trickling down her thighs.

“Oh, dear god,” The omega bucks against the alpha’s hand.

She grits her teeth, pulling on the silk bed sheets, fingernails digging roughly into her palms with every circular motion against her hole. Tongue pushing against rim and muscle, quivering at every gentle touch until— _ “Fuck!” _ —it blooms. The tip of Nicole’s tongue breaking through the bundles of nerves, thrusting inward until the rest follows.

Filling Waverly with an intense pleasure, heightened by the pad of Nicole’s thumb rubbing her clit with a speed unmatched by anything she could ever dream of in her wildest fantasies. Waverly’s thighs start to shake, quivering with the impending orgasm that would soon rattle her to the core.

“Don’t come.”

Waverly turns her head, confused. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Hold it, whatever you do don’t come until I tell you to.”

Waverly opens her mouth to question as to how on earth she’s supposed to do that, but the words die in her throat when she feels Nicole’s tongue on her clit again. 

Waverly groans, Nicole thrusting her thumb up to the hilt into her ass while her tongue explores her wet cunt. She moves, shifting her weight from one elbow to the other, one knee to the other to keep from coming, stretching her legs she comes into contact with something rough against the sole of her foot.

The material is rough, hard, the underside of her toes touch upon a seam. Nudging against it, there’s a flap and beneath it, metal teeth. Her brows join together until she realizes that she has her foot against the alpha’s jeans. And by proxy, her cock.

Nicole grunts, but doesn’t reveal any displeasure and Waverly presses forward.

She vibrates eagerly. Running her foot against the thick bulge between the alpha’s legs. Nicole had said to never be complacent with what she is given, in turn, she ought to take and demand more. And what more could she possibly want at this moment than to make the alpha feel just as good as she does?

Moving her foot lower between them, the sole brushes along Nicole’s covered cock and through the denim, she can feel it twitch.

“Remember, you are not to come until I say so.”

“Can I have a reason, then?” For the second time, Waverly is daring. “I’ll do much better with an incentive.”

Nicole smiles.

The alpha rises from the bed with quiet grace, there’s the unclipping of a bra, followed by the unzipping of jeans. Rejoining them on the bed, the omega purrs, molding its body against the alpha. Back to chest, skin to skin, her veins burn white-hot in the coolness of the room. The flash of electricity sparking along the surface of skin like firecrackers with every subtle movement of her shoulder blades against Nicole’s nipples.

Waverly is rewarded with a groan. Eager for another, she slides her hand up Nicole’s thigh and—

_ Oh. _

Nicole gasps at the first touch to her cock.

Waverly pauses for a brief moment, ready to pull back. However, despite the momentary lapse in bravery, she marches forward. Teasing the head with delicate fingertips, the pad of her thumb swiping over the slit. A drop of precome beading at the tip. Curling her hand around the head, Waverly works her way down the throbbing shaft; a bolt lightning strikes and connects them together.

There is the soft touch of a finger pad against Waverly’s folds before she’s being pushed into again with a long, slender finger.

“Ah!—” she struggles to maintain a firm hold but Nicole’s finger slides in up to the knuckle and Waverly shudders.

There is a hiss when a second finger joins the first. Moving up and down, sliding against each other inside of her. Wet sounds, that would be considered obscene with any other, are musical. Filling the playroom and bouncing off its walls wonderfully, a composition by Beethoven would pale in comparison. 

Nicole’s fingers curl.

“Jesus…” Teeth clacking together tightly, Waverly throws her head back against Nicole’s shoulder and sucks in a sharp breath. She almost loses her hold on the alpha but continues moving her hand up and down the shaft, twisting her wrist the end of each stroke.

There’s a rumble in the alpha’s chest and the omega teases with featherlight touches against the hard surface until the trail of skin ends in cold metal. The beginnings of a knot swelling behind it.

“Don’t,” Nicole growls, snapping her teeth against Waverly’s throat.

But the omega isn’t deterred. If anything, defiantly, she lingers around the cock ring. Thumbing the silver loop, nudging it for an opening.

And that is the crux of the omega’s disobedience, for Nicole’s fingers pull out with a soft wet pop and her body tenses considerably. Waverly purrs, a sly smile forming on her lips as she fits a nail into the small space between skin and metal.

The alpha’s knot throbs, emanating a strong wave of heat and the omega whimpers. Pushing up hard against her, desperately mewling for whatever barrier between them to be removed. For Nicole to stop resisting and just give in.

Waverly tugs at the ring, loosening the vice.

Nicole growls and is met with one in response from the omega; teeth bared, frustrated and irritated.

“I said  _ don’t.”  _ Nicole snarls.

“Whatever ever happen to not be so complacent?” Waverly barks in an unfamiliar voice.

There is a snap of teeth and swiftly, the omega is back on all fours. Her breath flurries out in a hot cloud, dissipating into the air before she feels Nicole move behind her. There is rustling, followed by the sound of a wrapper tearing, the omega huffs at the use of a condom.

Waverly’s face shifts into a bemused, slack-mouthed gasp as she feels the head of Nicole’s cock against her opening. Slowly undoing every single nerve lining her body with each stroke, up and down, along her slit.

Heat spreads from her stomach and across the wide expanse of her skin, burning through her veins like a forest fire consumes everything in its path. The head ignites the furious flames with a quick flash; slipping in inch by slow, torturous inch. The unrelenting hardness penetrating with the most unimaginable pressure,  _ fuck _ it’s too much!

Waverly grits her teeth, pulling at the silk sheets and balling her hands into fists until her nails bite into her palms. 

Waverly bites her lip, brows furrowed together, body shaking as another inch slips further inside.

Face pressed into the bed, Waverly twists her neck towards the ceiling to see Nicole’s face rapt in concentration; hands on the omega’s hips and slowly pushing against them. The sight fuels the fire in her stomach, melting her insides in a furious wave of white hot heat. Nicole grunts and readjusts her position behind her.

A bead of sweat spills from Waverly’s temple, the alpha reaches deeper and the omega pants. Tears brimming at the corner of her eyes once she feels the cold metal of the cock ring. She squeezes her eyes shut as her body is overcome with a shudder; her walls quiver around the alpha. Unable to keep herself in control for much longer. Nicole leans over and settles against her until she’s lying flat on the bed, ass in the air and the solid weight of Nicole’s body fully on top of her.

“I’m here, baby,” Nicole whispers behind Waverly’s ear, arms snaking around her own while she starts to move her hips. “I’m right here, you’re not alone.”

Wave after wave of pleasure, building slowly at the pit of her stomach, rocks Waverly into a steady pace. Each thrust, each motion forward, pushes her higher into the air. Ascending quietly with nothing but the sounds of moans aiding her flight and the anchor that is their hands laced together keeping her tethered to the earth. The air rises beneath her and for a single moment, Waverly swears she can fly.

Nicole’s breath is hot against her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe and tongue slick against the shell. Gradually, the alpha picks up speed and Waverly grits her teeth in response. Tightly wound, a bomb ticks away in the center of her chest waiting to explode. Waiting for Nicole to finally give her  _ fucking  _ permission.

The omega lets out a high-pitched whine, the sweat crowning her head, a sign of how desperate she’s become. Frantic, she claws the back of Nicole’s hands and buries her face into the bed.

Baring her neck completely the omega cries out, and the alpha nuzzles against it.

Nicole slips a hand between Waverly’s legs and rubs her clit feverishly. Wracked with shocks, bolts of lightning sporadically striking down against her nerves, Waverly loses her voice. Molten hot lava boiling blood to a tipping point and scorching the entirety of her body until there’s nothing but a blinding flash behind her eyes.

Rutting wildly behind her, grunting in a dark voice, Nicole lets out a breathless moan. “Come for me, baby…”

Beneath the furious patchwork of electricity and fire consuming her body whole, a blinding series of stars coloring her vision in a flash of white light and the amount of air rushing from her lungs, Waverly finds her a voice. A cry, akin to a shout _ , a scream, _ shaking her down to the marrow of her bones.

The high sends her soaring past the clouds until she’s broken through the sound barrier and her body is nothing but a collection of stardust dancing together. She drifts back to earth with heavy-lidded eyes and boneless limbs, unable to whine when Nicole pulls away. Exhaustion taking hold, followed by sleep close on its heels.

“D-Daddy… wait…” She tries, but Nicole quiets her with a soothing touch to her back, fingers rubbing what Waverly, at first thought, assumes to be soft circles into her shoulder blades.

“Shhh, baby.” Her fingertips spell something out along the surface of her sweat slicked skin. When her eyes close, every aspect of the waking world falling away she can still feel the letters being written into her skin.

_M-I-N-E._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really long chapter and I've got nothing to say except: _holy fuck, I'm so glad it's finished and posted!_


	9. Chapter 9

She awakens to the quiet rush of cold air settling where the mesmerizing warmth of a pair strong arms disappears. Waverly stirs, brows knitting together at the center when she fails to register the presence of the alpha beside her. With a yawn, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes, she wipes them away and take notice of the empty bed. The space beside her is not only empty, but the sheets give no indication that Nicole had stayed while she slept or not. The omega sighs.

Getting up, Waverly puts on one of the robes neatly folded on the massage table in front of the bed. Each one made of the finest silk, more likely than not, hand-stitched by a master craftsman working delicately on the gentle fabric. The tag on the inside of the collar reveals the name of some expensive brand she’s never heard before, and after this week, will probably never see again.

With one last look to the playroom, it’s dim lighting coloring the dark wine walls and meticulously displayed and organized instruments and shelves, a knowing shiver runs down her spine. The remnants of earlier still remains, the ghost of Nicole’s touch on her bare skin is fleeting. Waverly eyes the bed in particular; she’ll be back soon, splayed open and bound. A devious thought crossing her at the image of being gagged as well until she realizes that while her second day with the alpha had yet to finish, the week will inevitably end, and she will have to leave soon.

Waverly opens the playroom’s dark black doors and with a tentative tap against the hard surface with the pads of her fingers, she slips out.

The mansion is quiet and the echoes of her footsteps down its cavernous hall forces the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. She thinks about calling out for Nicole, but the moment passes and decides against it. Not wanting to disturb the older woman from whatever it was that she was doing, probably busy going over some stuff for work or having a meeting over the phone; doing so would be rude and Waverly didn’t want her to think she was a needy brat who was in constant need of attention. She had already pulled her away from work and whatever plans she had set out for them with the whole Champ debacle, what more could she possibly want?

Despite Nicole’s best intentions, she is still too tightly wound up, although, unlike before. It is only when Waverly stops by the wall with various framed photos that she takes a breath and calms down. The beautiful images of women immortalized in different positions, bodies either bare, wrapped in silk, or cleverly shrouded in select portions of shadows and light from an out-of-frame source, a true work of magic had she ever seen one.

There is a voice… Steady and straining to not give anything away, there is a slight edge to it that immediately reminds Waverly of earlier. It’s Nicole’s. For the second time today, she hears the alpha in a different state than the usual calm and collected demeanor she has come to be synonymous with. Unlike the situation with Champ, where the alpha was annoyed for dealing with an insufferable gnat, this time, Waverly can feel the quiet rage rumbling beneath the surface. Within seconds, she hears another voice.

A sickeningly sweet tenor leaning more towards baritone if given the chance, joins the fray. Whether it is mocking or stern, Waverly can’t tell for sure without some context to go off of. Stepping closer, she soon finds it. The hallway ends and leaves Waverly to unfortunately hide out in the open of the mansion’s grand entry, seeking cover in the corner of the living room’s marbled archway.

Waverly is grateful that the living room is unrepentantly large and with the way the furniture is arranged, she isn’t in their direct line of sight. Despite having the perfect vantage point to see them both. With their conversation hanging heavily in the air between them, Waverly couldn’t even begin to imagine how long Nicole had spent being forced to entertain this stranger in her home with such anger.

Beneath the splash of cologne, and even just the slightest bit of aftershave, the man’s scent is rich, smelling of smoke and dark chocolate; the smell of refurbished metal and centuries of power and wealth radiating from his skin. Even from his seated position the man is considerably tall, his shoulders are broad and thick, the muscle tone beneath his black blazer and blue button down give way to the idea that he was an athlete in his youth. But the most striking feature, is his pair of bright gold eyes; revealing the man’s identity as Nicole’s father, Victor Haught.

Waverly is dumbfounded and swiftly moves backwards, completely hiding her body behind the wall. Guilt washing over her immediately.

Nicole’s with her father, having a private meeting that is clearly not meant for her ears. Especially with the younger alpha struggling to keep it together. Their conversation is clearly a heated affair, and part of Waverly feels sick for even daring to eavesdrop on them. But the amount of anger she feels radiating from Nicole, keeps her rooted to the floor. Staying in her hiding spot and waiting to see how everything would turn out. She just doesn’t know if there’s anything she can do, should everything turn south.

“The IPO is set to be revealed in a few months, here on the Toronto Stock Exchange and then afterwards in New York.” Victor starts, “Once that happens, the entire company and you especially, being the CEO, will be at the forefront of everything.”

“Since I turned eighteen, I have done everything humanly possible to elevate the company from where Alexei left it. If you have such an issue with how I run things now, take over or put him back on.”

Victor narrows his eyes, “I removed your brother because his personal life kept bleeding into his work.”

Nicole snorts. “He fell in love with a high school history teacher. Instead of the rich daughter of that senator from Nova Scotia; the one you picked out for him.”

“He was blinded and instead of running the company as intended as CEO—board members were well aware of the problems his messy love life brought into the company. We had investors pull out of projects because they didn’t want to be associated with him.”

Victor doesn’t stop there. “To make matters worse Alexei broke the girl’s heart and her father, out of spite, pulled out of our land development deal.”

“You had him propose to Senator Deacon’s daughter, the only way he got out of it and married Jolene was when her twin sister Cora told him that she was pregnant. And even then, you blacklisted Alexei from the family and lambasted them at every opportunity until Jolene gave you four grandkids.”

Shocked, and more than a little confused, Waverly moves just a tiny bit forward, craning her neck around the corner in order to hear a little better. To hear more. All she had ever known about Cerberus Enterprise, from the brief times the company made news—headlines detailing the many charities and successful projects attached to their name—it had always been good. A star-studded resume of good will acts aiding their philanthropist image and profitable business endeavors; Waverly remembers seeing them in one of Canada’s Fortune 500 lists a few years back. Still there now.

She never knew of the problems that befell the company, and she’s sure no one else has either. Always secretive, private; the company had always been shrouded in mystery, known but out of reach. And here she was, listening to the grievances of a man about his son and the company he was born to work for and then pass on to his children. Waverly knows she shouldn’t be here, this is a matter between family, she has no place being behind this corner and eavesdropping.

The guilt worms its way in again, burrowing deep into the space between her ribs when she hears Victor speak again. “Nevertheless, we have a more pressing matter that needs to be addressed… These, _arrangements_ of yours, need to stop, Cole.”

Nicole sighs frustratedly, the first sound she makes that isn’t a carefully strained word. “Everything is fine.”

But Victor thinks otherwise, a scowl forming on his face. “If it were, you’d be taking the medicine the doctor prescribed for you and wouldn’t have to resort to these things.”

“I am not taking them.”

“Christ, you are stubborn, the medication is to help you—”

“Like it helped grandpa? Because the meds _certainly_ helped him!” Nicole barks roughly, “Old man became dependent on them like he was some sort of addict; he couldn’t live with them and he definitely couldn’t live without them!” But she isn’t finished, the edge to her voice only sharpens, serrated. “Becoming a shallow husk of a man, or an animal that needs to be restrained and sedated—constantly going back and forth until he finally gave up and just died.”

“Bite your tongue!” He snarls viciously, and Waverly has to hold on to the entrance frame. “Your grandfather was a wonderful man and an even better alpha! He did his absolute best for you children, to be a good example for all of you.”

“And where did that lead him in the end? All this talk about tradition and worth; I loved Grandpa Silas, even with his bigotry and asinine beliefs of alpha superiority, but he died a drugged up old man dependent on the meds he needed to keep from going feral.”

Victor’s eyes widen and flash red, fingers shaking against the armrests of the loveseat. He chuckles in disbelief, before it dissolves into a patronizing and condescending tone that chills Waverly’s blood. “You think doing these little contracts are going to help you, hmm? Give you that extra push you need to stay in control?”

“I’d understand if you were spending your rut with a specialist, a sex surrogate—certified medical professionals who are trained for this kind of thing. Fuck, I’d be just as fine, if not _better_ , if you’d just buy yourself a whore to keep busy. A different one for each night if you wanted, because at least they know their worth and damage control would be much easier… No one gives a shit about a mauled hooker.”

“But to go out of your way for a regular woman and offering them these overpriced contracts, paying for college tuition and buying them gifts? In what universe is putting yourself on the line like that okay? Nondisclosure agreements don’t mean shit if you snap!” Victor continues rising from the loveseat.

Nicole does the same. The coffee table between them suddenly small and insignificant.

"There is a selection process, referrals, Jeremy is in charge of all of it and I trust his judgement."

He scoffs. "And that makes a difference?"

"These are good women who financially need the help; I've asked enough of them to sleep with me during my ruts, the least I can do is pay their tuition."

"Oh yes, because if this is ever leaked to the public, you can bet that it'll be received warmly, another charitable act for the record books. God forbid our family name and everything we worked hard for is suddenly destroyed; no, we can trust the Canadian media to not become sensationalist when it's found out that the heir to the oldest dynasty in the country is running a slave ring!"

"You are blowing this out of proportion."

"Canada shares many of the same broadcasters with the United States, you think those Americans wouldn't love a fucking scandal to sink their teeth into?"

Nicole sighs, "I have everything under control, okay Dad? You can quit pushing the initiative that I'm sick and  _need_ to be on medication so we'd have a legally warranted defense if something goes wrong."

"Bullshit. These contracts are nothing more than a poor excuse for you to hide behind; you are twenty-five-years-old, a grown ass alpha, a _purebred,_ strong and virile enough to sire eight children out of that damned beta of yours! To be the alpha you are supposed to be.” Victor yells, teeth bared and his face ready to burst. “And yet, you’re too busy self-loathing and letting your wife run off to fuck knows where instead of staying where she belongs!”

“Shae has a career and a commitment to her practice. I will not stand in the way of that.”

“Her commitment is to _you_ , first and foremost; if you think it isn’t, then you really need to get over yourself.”

Nicole growls and steps around the coffee table, Victor meeting her in the middle. The air between them is thick with tension, enough that a knife could be used to cut through it. Although, Waverly suspects that the introduction of a knife, something pointed and sharped, able to be used as a weapon, would only ruin them; sinking the pair towards a depth she does not want to imagine. The bottle of wine and the glasses on the coffee table make Waverly anxious.

Glass is easily broken. The shards are worse.

Jesus _fucking_ Christ! Raised as the only omega in a household full of alphas, Waverly never had to deal with anything of this magnitude. Sure, Wynonna and Willa are constantly in a state of competition, vying for top spot. But she never had to fear the image of one of them hitting the floor and never getting back up again. Idiots to the highest degree imaginable.

But Nicole and her father? Had this been in a different time, centuries before modern society made away with uncivilized rules and culture—hell, Waverly will go as far as to say decades ago —they’d be locked in a vicious brawl. Victor then takes a deep breath, quirking a brow upwards in surprise before exhaling slowly. Eyes narrowed curiously.

“What was it that your grandfather always said?” He begins, “An alpha’s place is at the head of the table…”

He motions for Nicole to join him. In turn she does, monotonously reciting: “A beta’s is at their side, waiting on hand and foot…”

“And an omega? Come on now, you know this.” He pushes, but Nicole shakes her head and refuses. His lip curls back into a snarl, before it seamlessly shifts into a smirk. “Beneath it, taking their knot.”

He takes a step forward and whispers something to Nicole, something the omega can’t hear. Nicole veers her head back and snarls angrily. _“Get out.”_

Victor steps away with a smile, nodding and casually shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, I’ll go—but I’ll be back soon to discuss the IPO further.”

For an older man, Victor moves surprisingly fast. Already standing at the middle of the entrance of the living room before Waverly can even think about slipping away to run back to the playroom. Or at least to find a better place to hide. Instead, she presses herself, back first, into the wall.

She expects it all to end right there. For the older alpha to leave quietly with nothing but the sound of his feet hitting the linoleum and the slam of the front door, ending with the roar of an engine fading away. But she’s proven wrong, once again. A wine glass sails through the air, Victor tilting his head slightly to the left and the glass missing him entirely. Waverly covers her mouth to keep her gasp from being heard when the glass shatters along the floor.

Victor stares at the shards of glass and laughs. He doesn’t say another word and continues on to the front door and leaves. Nicole huffing frustratedly now that she was alone.

Or at least thought she was.

Waverly’s presence hadn’t been discovered during the whole time Victor was here, even though she was sure one of them would have noticed had they paid attention. But she’s grateful that they were far too busy arguing to have caught her scent. She isn’t sure what would have happened if they did. She shakes her head and pushes herself to move, omega growling and nipping her the side of her hip to stay. To do something to soothe the alpha. Waverly bites her lip, pushing a hand forward and around the entrance frame, fingers gripping the edges. But no, she thinks against it and makes her way back to playroom.

Taking off her robe and folding it neatly, she places it back where she found it on the massage table, grabs her phone from its pockets and gets into bed. Mussing up her hair just a bit to give the look as though she had just woken up.

Burrowing beneath the comforters, she starts to research.

 

 

Waverly continues her researching well into the rest of the evening, locking her phone and pretending to be asleep when she hears sounds coming from the outside of the room. It happens a few times until eventually she’s greeted to the sight of the mansion’s resident tiger and furry little menace, Calamity Jane, strolling through without a care in the world. The little beast hopping onto the bed and meowing for attention. Waverly smiles, despite the cat stealing her bracelet and leading her on to a chase with a mocking tilt, she’s not that bad of company and understands why Nicole keeps her around. Naturally, this could just be a biased opinion because the omega has always wanted a pet of her own and yes, there’s the possibility that she could very well like Nicole too.

Which only furthers her sudden enthusiasm to search the internet for any information that could help her in understanding what Victor Haught kept referring to in their conversation. So far, she hadn’t exactly found anything worth of value and while her searching had slowed, Calamity Jane being the needy attention-seeker that she is, she does come to find a few pages online that could possibly mean something. The pieces of her ever working mind coming together.

The older alpha’s choice of specifically using the word _mauled_ caught Waverly’s attention, deducing that whatever ailment Nicole apparently suffers from, has to be a mental illness. To the brunette’s knowledge, there isn’t a physical disease legitimately linked to angry, aggressive or violent behavior. Not to the degree Nicole’s father had mentioned so casually.

Most of the articles Waverly comes across don’t provide much information, save for linking to academic texts and papers. Yet, it’s a step in the right direction.

“CJ isn’t giving you a hard time, is she? She tends to be a bit grouchy when she doesn’t get what she wants.” Looking up Waverly finds Nicole at the entrance of the playroom, leaning back against the heavy black doors in a pair of loose pajama bottoms and a form fitting t-shirt. Arms crossed over her chest.

She shakes her head, “Nope! She’s the perfect little angel.”

If CJ could talk, she’d snort and laugh.

Nicole doesn’t move from the door and Waverly bites the inside of her cheek to keep from frowning. The first time they had done the aftercare, she stayed close. Now, it’s as though the older woman wants to purposely put space between them.

Nicole’s eyes momentarily flash red; had Waverly blinked, she would have certainly missed it.

Despite her father being gone for a while, the tension having died down in his absence, Nicole still feels off to the omega. The fading remnants of the quiet rage swirling within her veins and vibrating beneath her skin has all but dissipated much to the omega’s relief but doesn’t quell the number of questions growing in Waverly’s head.

Had Chrissy known there was something that could put herself in danger, like Nicole _snapping,_ she would have never agreed to this. The beta’s self-preservation skills are top notch, drilled into her by her overprotective sheriff of a father. Certainly, wouldn’t have even suggested and pushed for Waverly to do such a thing either. Which only leads Waverly to one glaring problem that rings several alarm bells in her head.

Chrissy didn’t know.

And on that note, neither did any of the other women who’ve done this before them.

“Are you alright Waverly?” Nicole asks, “You seem a bit… Off.”

“I-I’m fine, totally fine.” She stops while she’s ahead, rambling makes everything so much worse.

The last thing Waverly wants to do is lie to Nicole, but she can’t risk it; she needs to know more and pressing the older woman about it would result in nothing.

According to Victor, Nicole isn’t taking her medicine which meant that if she had any serious illness—a personality disorder of all things—the symptoms would be visible. Signs of comorbidity would be shown, at least by now. Waverly is sure she would have noticed. But the problem is, something as simple as depression, or irritation, can be the symptom of a variety of disorders and she’s working on borrowed time.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good, slept like a baby.”

The alpha’s eyes narrow and Waverly shivers; fearful, that she had been found out.

But nothing comes from it, to her immense relief and budding curiosity. And then, there’s a dead silence in the air and the omega fears that they had gone backwards in their… _business_ relationship.

Beneath the comforter, the brunette balls her hands into tight fists. Nails digging roughly into her palm, an unusual nervous habit she’s had for some time, knowing full well that biting her lips would give her up immediately. Damn it, she’s pulled between a rock and a hard place.

And it’s just not fucking fair.

“It’s nighttime and I think dinner is in order, no?” Waverly nods her head and Nicole continues. “I’ll head up and get started, why don’t you shower and hopefully by the time you’re done I’ll be finished.”

Upstairs, Waverly hops into the shower and stands beneath the water. Running her hands through her wettened hair, she doesn’t know what to feel. On one hand, she could easily forgo every single thought that has been pinballing between the walls of her brain since overhearing the Nicole and Victor’s conversation. On the other, those same thoughts are just puzzle pieces needing to be put together in order to form a bigger picture. A better picture that’s tangible enough for Waverly to hold on to.

Lathering up her arms and chest before rinsing off, there’s a sudden spark that forces Waverly to touch the side of her neck.

She sighs.

Exiting the bathroom, refreshed and clean, she takes another look at her phone and her thumb hovers over the screen. Her omega whining loudly when she decides to search for more possible answers. Between getting dressed and scouring through Google as quickly as she can, the brunette slows down when she finds a certain page hidden beneath a sea of search results.

Pocketing her phone into the back pocket of pajama bottoms, Waverly makes her way quietly down the hall to the master bedroom. Practically tiptoeing all the way there, unbeknownst to her, the drops of water from her still wet hair leaving a trail behind her. Calamity Jane following, yawning a bit too loudly for comfort.

The master bedroom is everything Waverly expected and so much more. The bed is massive, the same size as the one in the playroom, except it’s dressed in sheets of white silk. The room itself is overlaid with delicate and warm colors, matched with an earthy and wood-like tone. Walls painted in light shades of oak, rimmed perfectly with dark mahogany. She immediately recalls the curtains to be a mustard-yellow color, but as thick as they are, they are far too pastel to be desecrated with such a dingy assumption.

Towards the left, the omega finds the two-doored entrance to walk-in closet. From her position, the walls are lined with shelves for various pieces of clothing; sections dedicated to suits, dresses, shirts, all of them organized by color and probably by material. A staircase can be seen and Waverly becomes a bit dizzy at how utterly extravagant, and maybe a little excessive, everything is to her plebeian self.

On the other side of the impossibly large bedroom is another set of dual doors that must lead to another walk-in closet belonging to Shae.

Nevertheless, as much as the curious side of her ever inquisitive brain would love to pick apart everything she sees, from the detailed crown molding on the ceiling, to the exact number of inches the massive television mounted on the wall in front of the bed is, she’s reminded of her mission when Calamity Jane meows. The cat is a bit of card, but she’s a damn good partner-in-crime.

Shaking her head, the brunette sneaks her way into the bathroom and makes a beeline for one the medicine cabinet. Opening it, she carefully rummages through the things she finds until she gets her _bingo!_ moment.

Hidden in the back of the cabinet are several pill bottles, orange with white twist tops. Each one belonging to Nicole and Waverly figures she can call her impromptu sleuthing over once she has everything she needs, but there’s another curve ball thrown her way.

Two of the prescription pill bottles list ‘lithium’ and ‘carbamazepine’—mood stabilizers. While the other three (olanzapine, quetiapine, and risperidone) are atypical antipsychotics.

All of them are full and the prescription is dated a few months back.

Waverly takes a photo of each bottle and puts everything back the way she found them. Calamity Jane makes another sound akin to a warning growl and the omega takes it as her cue.

She follows the cat out of the room, taking extra care as she goes to make sure that she didn’t leave any indication to the alpha that she had been snooping. Closing the door behind her, carefully making sure she hears it lock in place, she leans against it and takes deep breath. This day couldn’t just be a simple one, could it?

CJ meows again and the omega tilts her head at her. “You know, you’re not that bad of a companion. Even if you stole my bracelet.”

CJ only blinks.

“Come on, let’s see if Nicole’s done with dinner.” To that, CJ snorts mockingly.

 

 

And to Calamity Jane’s assessment, she is correct. Dinner is nowhere near done and there are a variety of bowls full of ingredients meticulously placed around the kitchen. Tablespoons of unsalted butter, extra-virgin olive oil, chopped parsley; two teaspoons of fresh lemon juice; salt; thinly sliced onions; four peeled potatoes sliced crosswise, half an inch thick; one-fourth cup of rendered duck, goose and pork fat; chopped garlic cloves; freshly ground black pepper and a pinch of crushed red pepper.

An organized mess is what it is and Waverly finds the alpha hunched over watching the oven, well, one of them, intently. CJ strolls in sneakily and jumps onto a counter, the striped cat then steals a piece of duck. Running away between Waverly’s legs when Nicole shoos her away.

“Oh hey,” Nicole greets, a bit surprised. “I, uh, didn’t expect you down so soon.”

“I can go back upstairs if you need me too.”

Nicole shakes her head, “It’s fine. The only thing I managed to get somewhat done is dessert.”

“Dinner and dessert,” Waverly raises a brow. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“True, but I figured I’d try my hand at cooking.”

“You say it like you’ve never cooked before,” Waverly moves closer and crouches down beside Nicole in front of the oven.

The older woman nods, “Well, I have, but Shae says I’m too meticulous with the measurements and frustrate too easily if things don’t go my way.”

Waverly smiles, imagining an overly dramatic Nicole. A thought that reminds the brunette so much of Wynonna.

“So, what exactly are you cooking Chef Haught?” She rises from her position in front of the oven and the mind numbingly delicious scent of whatever was currently being baked to perfection. She moves back to the kitchen table and Nicole follows.

“For dessert, I’ve got a lovely Gâteau Basque made with my mother’s secret recipe. Had to make a call all the way to France just to get it.”

“And what you see, strewn about the kitchen,” Nicole continues, “is what should, hopefully result in a delicious Potatoes Lyonnaise with Lemon and Chile as our meal.”

“Need some help?”

The auburn-haired woman shakes her head, “That’s quite alright. I’ve done everything already, you can just sit and relax. But… If you are so keen on helping, we could use something to drink. Wine?” Nicole takes all the ingredients for the Potatoes Lyonnaise and puts them into a large saucepan. She points to the island in the middle of the kitchen by the pantry. “There’s a wine rack at the bottom, pick one.”

Waverly nods and checks the wine rack. Bent over she checks and the various expensive bottles, looking for the best one to pair with dinner. She tries the red wines first: Cabernet Sauvignon? Maybe Grenache, or Malbec? She has no clue which one to pick.

She moves on to the lower rack to look at the whites. Chardonnay or Riesling? Sauvignon Blanc? At this point she figures who the hell cares and just settle for the bottle of Pinot Gris she finds at the bottom and returns to spot beside Nicole.

“Ah, Pinot Gris, good choice.” Nicole says, stirring all the ingredients together. The sweet smell of rendered meats sizzling against the pan and filling the kitchen.

“Thanks, I didn’t what to pick.” Waverly shrugs her shoulders, “You have a lot of wine and I don’t know which one would match better with dinner, so I grabbed whichever.”

“Well, every single bottle there would have been a perfect choice.”

Waverly leans against the marble counter next to the stove, “Is that a thing? Rich people and their wines?”

The alpha shrugs her shoulders. “I never really cared for wine, champagne, or any of that stuff. As a kid I used to go with my mother to France during the summer, her family owns a vineyard in Bordeaux, have for at least one hundred years.”

“So, I’m guessing if I had you take a wine test, you’d pass each one?”

“As long as you blindfold me,” Nicole smirks. “Gotta make it fair, after all.”

The omega rolls her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather not feed your ego.”

Nicole laughs. “Darn.”

“I used to help my grandparents on my mother’s side all the time, picking grapes and planting seeds if the crops were destroyed. Anytime they needed help and I was there, they always had an extra pair of hands. The real issue was getting them to let me.”

“And on your father’s side?” Waverly asks curiously, until she remembers that she might be opening a can of worms after witnessing Victor’s tirade earlier. “I-I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

Nicole raises a brow.

Oh fuck, the omega thinks to herself. She didn’t mean for that slip up. The alpha holds her shocked stare for a good long minute. Before returning to their dinner, now crisp and caramelized in the saucepan.

“My father’s family…” Nicole starts, trailing off as she opens the glass cabinets above the stove and pull out two square plates. “Th-They’re a bit intense.”

Dinner’s done, and Waverly reaches for two wine glasses in the same cabinet.

“I love them, I really do, but they aren’t easy to deal with. Sometimes I think running my head through a woodchipper is better than having to speak with them. My grandfather especially.” The older woman visibly shivers. “He enjoyed life and it had to offer, but he was from an older generation and we tended to clash often.”

They take to eating dinner in the living room. The smell of Victor’s scent and his cologne still lingers in the air and Nicole lights a couple of candles around the room to stave it off; the sweet smell of cinnamon with a hint of vanilla drizzled deliciously on top.

The crisp texture of the pan-fried potatoes beneath a bed of caramelized onions, the sweetness of the smoked pieces of pork and duck previously glazed with tinge of honey, sautéed in butter with parsley and the zest of the lemon and the slight spice of the chile; absolute perfection on her tongue.

Paired with the otherworldly sweetness of the glass of Pinot Gris and the aroma of honeysuckle teasing her nose, the sticky weight of the wine bearing down on her tongue accompanied by the acidic pop to her taste buds that keeps them alive.

Topped off with the intriguing discussion budding between them, Waverly is helpless to the feeling of being detached from the ground. Off to float towards cloud nine. Again.

Waverly leans back against the couch, Nicole on the other side of it as the alpha continues talking about her grandfather.

“He’s got an old school way of thinking, his views on politics and life as whole is not one I agree with.” Nicole says taking a sip from her glass.

“And what are your views then?”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders, “Well, as liberal as Canada is compared to the United States, we still have a bit of a medieval way of looking at mating and the expectations of mates, in general. It’s only recently did we, as a society, finally get over this pack-like hierarchy. Next on the list should be the removal of the laws insisting on mates being inexplicably linked for the rest of their lives.”

The brunette almost chokes on the forkful of potatoes in her mouth, omega tilting its head in confusion. Barking in dislike when it finally catches on.

“I’m sorry,” Waverly quickly wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “But you have to be the only person that I’ve ever heard who’s against the laws on mates.”

“Yes, well, I think most people don’t really understand what it means to be mated to another person. It’s always been romanticized. Establishing a mating bond is considered to be the truest form of love.”

“It is! Finding someone who is just equal in every possible way. There’s a reason why it’s such an overdone cliché in literature since time in memoriam, really.”

Nicole shakes her head. “Love is way too complicated for it to be that simple.”

“I never said it was simple,” Waverly adds. “The laws are there for that, at least to try and make things somewhat easier.”

She continues. “According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts; condemning them to spend the rest of their lives in search of their other halves.”

“Greek mythology doesn’t take into consideration the other aspect in mates that most people overlook.” Nicole cuts in.

“Love is a part of the human experience, it’s something unexplainable and unmeasurable, mates are an extension of that,” Waverly replies, “We all want to find our mate, find that one singular person we were born for; that tangible relief to finally feel whole.”

Nicole shakes her head. “You find your mate, that’s wonderful. You feel complete, whole. Together, you’re one. But just because that is so, doesn’t mean that the both of you are meant to be. Everything is magical when you’re with your mate—you’re invincible, soaring through the clouds and you think you’ll never touch the ground—but then there’s a problem. An argument, a disagreement, whatever it may be, everything gets hot. You’re on fire, combusting into flames and your mind races so fast that it seems like it won’t stop.”

“And when you’re not with your mate, what happens then? There’s no good in the world, you can’t stand being apart. You’re drowning and no matter how much you try, you can’t seem to keep your head above water.” The alpha continues.

“That’s only if the bond is strong and mating bites are done,” Waverly counters quickly. “And a bite can only be issued if both parties are willing to give and or receive it.”

“Extreme highs and extreme lows; worse for those with unrequited bites.”

“Mating is as natural to our biology as it is for me to go into heat and you into a rut. It’s a part of our biology, we can’t help it.” Waverly regards Nicole with a thoughtful look.

“There are laws in place for registered mates, pretty much the same for married couples, but trickier and hard to define now that people are starting to realize the screwed side to it. All of the ancient civilizations, despite their differences, agreed on one thing: mates should die together. If one went first, the other was soon to follow, whether by sickness, suicide, or justifiable execution by the state.”

“That practice died out by the post-classical era, with no records of documents to be found indicating that it continued after 500 AD.”

“Mates were given more freedom to live but were still shackled to each other, even if they were married to others and had children. The modern era didn’t change anything either except acknowledge to a certain degree that it shouldn’t be the be all, end all.”

“It isn’t a prison sentence…”

“True,” Nicole understands. “But I’m not going to let my alpha’s wants and desires dictate my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, mostly backstory, drama and a splash of worldbuilding.
> 
> Next time, we visit a country club and meet more characters, not all of them friendly.


	10. Chapter 10

The alarm on her phone rings, vibrating along the surface of the nightstand and Waverly groans. Reaching over and tapping aimlessly all over the place before finally finding the illustrious red button that bring her a few moments of salvation. She turns over and pulls the comforter further up her body until she’s completely covered by it, sighing softly.

Until she throws it off and her eyes widen, snatching her phone and looking at the time in surprise. Good God, it’s 9:30 A.M.! Fucking hell! A litany of curses and swear words run through her mind in quick succession that would make a foul-mouthed sailor proud. It certainly would make Wynonna proud, practically praising her baby sister for carrying on another Earp Family trait that wasn’t early onset alcoholism.

Jumping out of bed, Waverly immediately rips open her dufflel bag and looks for all the essentials; heading into the bathroom and groaning loudly when she realizes that she _still_ has no clue how to work the knobs as quickly as she should after being here for two days. Once she manages to get the water running she takes a quick shower and washes her hair.

Day three. She’s been here for two days and two nights already, currently on the third day of the contract. Compared to everything she imagined during her sleepless nights counting down to the second she signed her name of the dotted line; the way Chrissy had created this erotic, sex-driven, passion-filled fantasy complete with forbidden taboos that are chains, whips and blindfolds, left her mind spinning uncontrollably. Only to be completely proven wrong and to never trust Chrissy’s exaggerated words ever again.

But to some extent, her best friend wasn’t wrong. There was a lot the beta omitted, including how unbelievably gentle and sweet Nicole is. Looking back on it now, Waverly understands why there were certain pieces of information purposely left up in the air for her to experience herself.

And in the same vein, there are things that not even Chrissy herself knows about that puts Waverly in place she never thought she’d ever be. A family secret that the brunette has only scratched the surface of. Slowly learning the ins and outs of this strange world built solely for the rich and famous.

Hopping out of the shower and ripping her duffel bag open, she rummages through the disorganized mess that was her clothes. The bedroom door cracks open a little bit and in comes Calamity Jane meowing for attention.

The toyger jumps onto the bed and stares at her, blinking slowly and rotating her ears, meowing again.

Waverly shakes her head, “No, CJ, I can’t play right now.”

The striped cat lets out an irritated yawn and then proceeds to stretch her legs out and lick herself between them. Waverly raises a brow incredulously, “Do you really have to do that in front of me all the time?”

Calamity Jane continues, not even bothering to look at the omega.

“Good to know…a klepto _and_ a voyeur, what a combination.”

Calamity Jane picks her head up and meows before returning to making Waverly’s bed her own.

“You could at least show the slightest bit of decency,” Waverly makes a face before realizing how strange it must be that she was actually having a conversation with the cat, believing that every pointed meow, sneeze, and yawn meant something. That the ten-pound cat was actually responding with all the sense of a human.

She imagines that every pet owner must think this way. Their animal companion speaking with them in a language that only the two could ever possibly understand. The added unconditional love mounted on top of never truly being alone sounds incredibly wonderful. Waverly is almost jealous.

Another appreciative look towards the toyger and to her chagrin, the striped cat now makes a mess of the sheets, rubbing her back against them and flurry of orange and black fur goes flying all over. Waverly is explicitly _almost_ jealous.

Finishing up, dressed and ready to tackle the day ahead of her, she heads out of the room. The click of her heels against the linoleum echoing down the hall as the brunette makes her way to the top of the staircase. For a moment, Waverly feels richer, stronger—for all intents and purposes, by God, she feels _powerful._ Each step down the marble staircase furthers the image that momentarily clouds her mind; that of a royal 18th century queen about to make a grand entrance and address her loyal subjects with all the grace and class of a long ruling monarch.

Matched with a beautifully long white dress, tail billowing behind her majestically, her arrival punctuated by the bows of the court and the nobles who look to her as perfection personified. But, once she reaches the final step, she remembers that her wishful thinking cleverly disguised underneath a mask of hyperactive imagination is a stark contrast to what her reality is.

The impossibly large living room and the menacingly harsh, three straight foot-like endings of the symbol carved into the wall above the fireplace, is a bitter reminder. Part of her still feels like she ought to curtsy whenever she’s in the presence of royalty. Even if she’s only standing in front of an inanimate object, a symbol… A symbol that led an entire country and its foreseeable future under its banner through several pivotal eras in human history, only to be cut short by the French Revolution. The lull in power and influence following the removal of a centuries old system catered to it, ultimately fleeing from its native country to start again here, in Canada.

Waverly still can’t believe that she is currently living and breathing in the same air as someone as the heir to a royal dynasty. It still seems like a far-off dream she has yet to wake up from; but alas, here she is, awake and alive. Now on her third day, wearing an expensive ensemble she would had to sell an organ for, waiting for the alpha to take her to some exclusive country club and—wait… Where is Nicole?

The brunette checks the kitchen and has half a mind to check the playroom before deciding against it, it’s way too early to open that Pandora’s Box.

Waverly heads to the bottom of the staircase and calls out for Nicole.

“Nicole?” She tries, her voice somewhere between a shout and a simple yell. Thankfully, the woman in question responds quickly, albeit panicked.

“I’ll be right there Waves!”

_Waves?_ She draws her brows together and stares at the space atop the staircase as if searching for an answer. She isn’t one to abhor nicknames, or to even have a feeling towards them period. Wynonna has taken to coming up with colorful nicknames in her spare time; sweet, endearing, and not the least bit original. Waverly is grateful that Wynonna is the only Earp to take such a task upon herself.

Wynonna calls her ‘Waves’ and it’s become ingrained into her and their father’s vocabulary as it is for them to call her babygirl. The name sounding different with a variety of emotions attached to it in the way that they regard her, forever the baby of the family. When Willa does it, always in a snarky and condescending tone that conveys more than isn’t said, the equivalent of a mentor quietly scolding their protégé.

With Gus and Curtis, Waverly is taken back to when she was a child. The fondness in their voice reserved for that typically of a child of their own, and in many ways, the two betas raised Waverly and sisters. Taking care of them while her father was busy working long hours and their mother was busy gallivanting all across the globe in an effort to ‘find herself’.

But the way Nicole said it, even if it was for a single moment less than two seconds long, just feels strange.

Her omega wags its tail happily and Waverly rolls her eyes. Doesn’t take much to make it happy, apparently.

A series of clicks in rapid succession bound down the staircase and Waverly stands to await the alpha, ready to go immediately. That is until her eyes are greeted to the site of a sultry one shouldered dress, featuring an interesting stylistic choice of chest cut outs connected to metal circle embellishments and a strong asymmetrical hem creating a side slit illusion. A single long sleeve with a concealed side zip closure. Deliciously, all black.

Waverly thinks back to the extremely limited experience she’s had with the finer and more expensive things in life, recalling the deceptively dangerous dress as belonging to a designer by the name of David Koma; the dress being featured in a catalogue Waverly browsed through while waiting in the dean’s office.

Paired with a pair of open toe stiletto heels made of suede and leather lining, a sculptural vamp cut out heightening the dramatic appeal of their devious aesthetic; Francesco Russo. The alpha’s usually messy red hair now slicked back with only several unruly strands refusing to conform, dangling over honey-golden eyes brushed with eyeliner in a sleek, delicate fashion only a master painter could enjoy.

“Ready?” Nicole asks and Waverly has to blink several times before realizing her jaw was on the floor, tongue lolling out in comedic fashion behind it.

Her brain fails to fully register the older woman’s words until enough time passes that she has to nod her head like a bobblehead toy to keep from talking. Unsure that anything coming from her mouth would be anything other than an incoherent babble.

“Perfect!” Nicole makes her way to the front door and Waverly follows, her eyes cast downward in a futile effort to keep from ogling the alpha’s backside. Her omega trailing after them eagerly.

“Uh, Can I ask a question?” The inflection in her voice going up at the end more than she intended.

“You just did.” Nicole smirks.

She blushes a pretty pink, moving past it with as much grace as she can muster. “You said the dress code required everyone to wear white.”

“White for those who aren’t on business,” The auburn-haired woman unlocks the Lamborghini, its doors opening vertically with a quiet hiss.

“Business?”

“Oh yeah, you would think that being CEO meant I’d be able to pick and choose my days off,” they enter the sportscar and the doors come back down, snapping into place easily. “But no, I’m always on the clock. Even when I’m sleeping.”

“Wow, i-it must be tiring, I couldn’t imagine working all the time.”

“Neither could I, but then I turned eighteen and the fate of the company was put in my hands and the rest is history.”

“Isn’t eighteen a little young?” Waverly looks out the window. At eighteen the omega had just finished her second semester of college and was busy tutoring others to fill up her extracurriculars and make a little money on the side. She was still a child then in some ways; never in a million years would she ever be able to run a company at that age. She’d probably run it into the ground. Then again, she remembers what Victor said about Nicole’s older brother.

The beta was, according to the older alpha, ruining the company on a business level because of his messy love life. One that was partly created because of Victor pushing him into a relationship he wanted no part of, preferring to fall in love with a high school teacher than go along with his father’s scheme. Waverly imagines that all the responsibility of running the company had been thrusted upon Nicole without remorse; forced to take over and grow several years older in a short amount of time.

“Eighteen is young, and my mother was against me taking the role of CEO when I was barely getting settled into life being a college student, but my father and grandfather made the excuse that they took over around my age and did well for themselves and the family as a whole.”

_Really?_ The omega can’t believe what she’s hearing. Hands balling into tight fists in her lap, eyes tracing over the amorphous shapes of clouds in the blue sky to distract herself. Nails biting into her palms as she finishes what appears to be a fluffy cloud in the shape of a rabbit, moving on towards one that resembles a star. It seems the Haught Family, at least the alphas in charge that is, are hellbent on being successful. Even if they must sacrifice the wellbeing of their own children in the process.

They arrive at the wrought-iron gates, Nicole showing identification and the security guard gives her a curt nod before they are let out. The Lamborghini picks up speed and heads out onto the highway for a brief period. Instead of heading towards Calgary, they make their way towards the opposite direction. The road is lined with tall evergreen trees, the snow tops of the nearby Palliser Range on the horizon. Instantly piquing the omega’s interest as to where this high-end country club could possibly be.

She steals a quick glance at Nicole; eyes running over her sleeveless, left arm, the beautiful snow-white skin marked with black ink. Tilting her head, she wonders the reasoning behind the alpha’s choice in getting tattoos. With how prevalent her family is at wanting to keep to a strict regimen in all aspects of their lives, how she was able to get them done. Probably did so during a particularly rebellious phase.

Nicole catches her staring and smiles.

“During my first year in college, Perry—you’ll meet him at the club, great guy—and I dared each other to get tattoos. Of course, we were drunk and high, his dorm room smelled like a seedy dive bar for three days and the RA wrote us up for it. But once we sobered up, we were still feeling competitive, so we decided to head on down to some tattoo parlor. Both of us were determined to see this through and not chicken out.”

“We browsed through a catalogue of styles and designs, Perry immediately took a liking to an image of the Yonghe Temple in China surrounded by a flurry of cherry blossoms. I still needed to think what I wanted through, so he went ahead. He chose to have it done on his chest, right on the left pec. God, did he tear up though. He held my hand and I thought he was going to break it with how hard his grip was.”

“What of the tattoo artist? What did he think?”

“The man, an omega, small one too, covered in so many tattoos it was impossible to tell where they began and ended, oh he wanted to laugh his ass off but hated to stay focused. He did chuckle though.” Nicole herself grins at the memory.

“Thinking back on it, it really was a beautiful tattoo.”

“ _Was?_ He got the tattoo removed?”

Waverly takes note of the pregnant pause that follows, a little too long for it to not be the result of something serious. “Perry got into an accident that ruined most of it.”

The omega doesn’t press on it. “And yours?”

“As you already know, I’ve got three tattoos. The one I got at the shop with Perry are the phases of the moon.” The alpha flexes her bicep and Waverly rolls her eyes. “I chose them because of what each one signifies: new beginnings, intention, decision making, refinement, action, gratitude, forgiveness, and finally, surrender. Can’t ask for a better reminder to be a humble and decent human being than that.”

“What do the armbands mean?”

“The armbands were done a year later after my grandfather died. In Samoan, the word ‘tattoo’ means ‘open wound’; in a tribe the warriors would honor their dead with an armband as remembrance, a permanent reminder of mourning over the loss of someone dear to them.”

“Your grandfather must appreciate the sentiment.”

“That, or he’s probably rolling over in his grave.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders. “He never liked tattoos, he thought of them as horrendous eyesores only criminals and plebeians would like. He hated my triskelion.”

“The tattoo on your back?”

“Oh yeah, it’s the first one I ever got. I was only sixteen when I got it done. Grandpa Silas yelled and hollered until he was blue in the face when he saw it for the first time—as per his own words, he said that I was a disgrace for purposely getting not just a tattoo, but one that completely _bastardized_ the family’s symbol with spirals. He then went on a tirade because what I had done was the perfect example as to why ‘the family is in the state that it is, how the company and the Great Almighty Haught Dynasty was doomed to burn to the ground’.”

“And your parents, what did they say? Because it sounds like your grandfather really needed a reality check, no offense to him.” Waverly then quickly adds, “May he rest in peace.”

“They kept quiet and let him rant. I didn’t make it any better when I decided to drag _La Marseillaise_ through the mud and pretty much condemned the good ol’ French tricolor and their Goddess of Liberty to burn to the ground along with us.”

Waverly blinks, brows shooting up to her hairline. “You’re joking.”

Nicole shakes her head. “He then started talking in French and my father pretty much had to calm him down before he worked himself into a heart attack.”

“Please tell me that he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, the man smoke and drank like an animal, so if he did end up having a heart attack that day, I wasn’t going to shoulder all the blame.”

“You must’ve been every parent’s nightmare as a teenager.”

Nicole winks. “That was the plan.”

 

* * *

 

When they first arrive at Whitewater Country Club, Waverly is equally swept off her feet as she is floored by the sheer magnitude of the entire area it encompasses. Met first with a large sign with club’s name printed on the front in big capital letters with the ‘W’ slightly slanted and curved, next to a heraldic shield painted in gold, royal blue and scarlet. Nicole pulls the sportscar up the entryway, stopping in front of the security gates. Much like Remus Pointe, the security guard asks for the alpha’s name and identification, cross checking on their computer through a long list of members before everything is checks out and they’re let through. The only difference is the guard, dressed in a simple black and white suit like some sort of secret service agent, acknowledges Waverly as a human being. Telling them both to have a good day.

Located north of Calgary, a good forty minutes away from Edmonton to the west, the club sits on 200 acres of vibrant green fields. The club itself is a spectacular marvel of quiet sophistication and class. The parking lot itself is home to dozens of cars, each one just as expensive, if not more than Nicole’s own Lamborghini; all of them priceless compared to the omega’s own cherry red jeep. Their parking space alone is situated between an obscenely bright orange Ferrari F60 America, and a majestic blue and white Mansory Vivere Bugatti Veyron.

Nicole offers her arm and Waverly takes it. The alpha then leads her what the omega can only assume to be the country club’s main building.

The main building features a graceful layout with beautiful hardwood flooring, soaring ceilings and classical original moldings. The first level is home to a palatial entrance gallery which leads to the first of several restaurants the club has to offer—simply named, The Grille, is a casual dining restaurant offering breakfast, lunch and dinner buffets robustly filled with everything from healthy options such as a salad bar to more decadent indulgences like freshly made mousse cake and different flavored sorbets. From there one can enjoy the view from the picturesque windows overlooking the golf course’s driving range. There’s a poster by arched entrance next to the maître d′ that reads: _‘Sunday Brunch!’_ And below it, _remember to bring the kids on by for ‘Family Night!’_

Further down there is a directory showcasing a map of the country club; resembling the ever-expanding reach of tree branches punctuated on each stem with facilities functioning as flowers and leaves. Five more restaurants, tennis courts, the golf course serving as its own national park, tennis courts, swimming pools (the prized 12,000 square foot lagoon-styled heated swimming pool at its center), four fitness centers hosting more than 53 weekly classes, three bars, four newly renovated card rooms, seven parking lots, a library, spas, salons, and a variety of social events scheduled all throughout the year. And that’s not even counting the numerous rentable villas dotted all around the property.

She overhears a beta with long blonde hair and blue eyes talking to a much older man with gray hair, squealing over the amenities of the villa they just rented. A master bedroom with an accompanying sitting room and fireplace, an original 1930’s marbled and mirrored full bathroom and a dressing room with an additional adjacent full bath, offering the highest level of service and security possible.

“People rent villas here, like to stay?” Waverly asks with a slight tug on the older woman’s arm.

Nicole nods. “Oh yeah, most people tend to rent them for a couple of hours or at least a day or two. The longest a person can rent a villa is seven days. For security reasons. After all, the club requires order and control to stand.”

Waverly tilts her head. “Order and control?”

The alpha ushers the brunette to The Grille where the maître d′ seats them next to the window. The woman’s pearly white smile splits her face in half with a sort of faux politeness that leaves Waverly to deduce that no matter the setting, the working class is still a lot more miserable than the customers they serve. All in all, she commends the woman for trying her best to get through the usual corporate lines before their waiter arrives with their glasses of water. The maître d’ leaves and their waiter takes over, the smile on this one is far from tired and despondent.

Instead, it is slighted by the snobbish glances she cuts Waverly’s way while gazing longingly at Nicole. The woman whose name reads as ‘Jane’ on the nametag all but hands the omega her menu in a patronizing manner reserved for peasants and unworthy commoners. “Shall I start you off with something to drink?”

“Yes, I’ll have a Blood Orange Screwdriver.” To which the waiter responds with a resounding excellent, before they both turn to Waverly.

Quickly, the brunette looks through her menu for the drinks section. Only to flabbergasted at the prices. To think she once that $12 for a drink was highway robbery, but $35? Either these drinks are made from the finest purest waters untouched by man, or they are undoubtedly the cure for cancer. Nevertheless, Waverly picks on when she’s been caught staring at her menu for too long.

“I’ll have a Blueberry Mint Julep.”

The woman only nods her head and takes their menus away. It’s clear that the woman holds some sort of dislike towards Waverly, and that’s okay. She doesn’t like her either.

Nicole checks her phone for a second, texting from the way her thumbs move against the screen before placing it back down on the table. “Order and control. That’s how country clubs are run. Everyone pays a membership, follow the rules set by the club and in return we are afforded a place to relax and do a little networking.”

Waverly nods. “Sounds great. Do you come here often?”

“Usually for work,” and then, “I had my wedding here.”

The omega all but chokes on her own saliva. Covering her mouth with as much class as grace as she can possibly muster to not seem so out of place within the presence of Whitewater’s prestigious patrons. Although she’s sure she failed in that regard. Jane the Waiter returns just in time to see this and hands the pair their drinks, placing Waverly’s on the table with a snarky grin as if she knew all along the omega didn’t belong here.

“Would you both like to start off with some croissants and a cheese platter from one of our collections?”

“Sure,” Nicole takes a sip from her glass, the blood orange color as bright as her own hair. “Waverly, darling, why don’t you pick for us?”

Jane looks shell-shocked, jaw tightening as if she couldn’t believe that she’d have to now speak to someone lesser than herself. The smile on her face stretches, faker than before. And Waverly is beyond overjoyed for it.

“Well, _Jane_ , I’d like to know of the different collections you have.”

If the woman could, she’d spit in Waverly’s face or turn on her heel and leave. A quick glance towards Nicole on the other side of the table reveals that the alpha wouldn’t let the snooty woman do either.

“We have the house favorite, Beehive Cheese and Creminelli Salami Collection, complete with pan forte crostini crackers and piquant Pepperlane blood orange preserves. We also a collection of cheeses from Europe; Farmhouse Waxed Cheddar from Britain, Taleggio from Italy and Manchego from Spain, and last but not least,” Jane turns to Nicole, soft and sultry, “Cremeux de Citeaux all the way from France.”

Good God, Waverly wants to laugh at how the woman could butcher the French language so brutally. More so when Nicole furrows her brows in confusion.

“So, what will it be?” Jane challenges.

Waverly shrugs and leans back against her chair. “I don’t know… _Je suppose que nous aurons Cremeux de Citeaux, à moins que mon chéri ici, préfère autre chose?”_

Jane the Waiter’s eyes widen into large saucers, any more and the omega is sure they’ll pop out of their sockets. And while Waverly wants to laugh, easily settling for a giggle so as to not seem like much of a bitch, she swallows the urge and rests her shoulders back. A small smile on her lips.

“Oh I’m sorry, you don’t speak French, do you?” She gives her a quick once over in a way that would certainly make Willa proud. “Not well, at least.”

The woman’s face goes red with embarrassment and all she can do is respond with a shake of her head. Where’s the uptight snooty behavior from before? Nowhere to be found now that she had been shoved off her high horse.

“We’ll have the last one, thank you.” Waverly finishes and the woman simply nods her face.

“I guess that’ll teach her—”

“Wow…” Is all Nicole says; hand in mid-air holding her glass. She is just as dumbfounded by Waverly’s actions as the waiter, only difference is Nicole’s cheeks blush a pretty pink and she stares impressed. The corner of lip twitching into a smirk.

Waverly bites her lip. Before she knows it, she starts to babble incoherent words that sound more like a mess of an apology before she takes a sip from her glass and lets the alcohol bring back down. Once she’s finally recollected herself, she gulps and starts again.

“I-I am so, so sorry. I’m not, I’m not like that believe me.” She apologizes, and Nicole shakes her head.

“Trust me, I’m a little surprised but you’ll fit in well with everyone here.”

“Are you sure, I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m some sort of heathen.”

“I am absolutely sure, Waverly. To tell you the truth, I was a little worried bringing you here; the average age of members here is forty-five, and whenever these old fools smell fresh blood in the water they tend to get a little hungry—had to bat a few them away from Chrissy when I brought her here.”

“She mentioned that,” Waverly says, quickly giving a pleasant smile when a new waiter arrives with their croissants and cheese platter. “A senator offered to be her sugar daddy, apparently.”

“Ah, well that was Senator Dalphond from Quebec; a harmless man who honestly would’ve just enjoyed her company.”

“Company? As in sex?”

“Far from it to be in fact, most of the older people here are several times divorced and really lonely. They just want companionship, someone to talk to who isn’t trying to basically network at all hours of the day.”

Waverly takes a bite out of her croissant, soft and fresh from the oven with a slice of the salami casalingo and just a dab of the deep crimson marmalade. Her tastebuds exploding into a series of flavors, sweet and spicy on her tongue.

“I won’t lie to you, there is a large portion of members who use the club and it’s villas as their own personal getaways. Extra marital affairs are common here and there some who are known to frequent the use of… escorts, to put it mildly.”

Waverly nods, even though in some basic fashion, what they’re doing is no different.

“But when were you going to tell me you were so fluent with French?” Nicole asks with a smile. “Do you have family there?”

The omega shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m mean I would love to visit France one day and see Notre Dame and Versailles, but I’m completely Canadian.”

“So, you took classes, then?”

“I, I did take some classes online, in my spare time for fun. I’ve always found the language to be sort of romantic. You can say anything in French and it always sounds unbelievably beautiful compared to when it’s said in English.”

She continues. “Words like _bleu, courir,_ and _doux_ —”

“ _Rester.”_

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Stay. As in something simple as the word ‘stay’ sounds so much better in in French than in English, but uh—” suddenly Nicole’s phone rings “—I have to take this, be right back.”

Nicole gets up, grabbing her phone quickly and exits the restaurant. Leaving Waverly to blink and question, did she really just witness a frazzled and flustered Nicole? A moment she never thought she’d ever see, not when the alpha had spent most of their week together composed. Being so calm, cool and collected, keeping her composure in a way Waverly can only ever hope to one day be able to do the same. Unlike the frustration with her father, going as far as to throw a champagne glass, this is far different. Nowhere near that level of intensity.

In fact, Waverly wonders. Was there something to be mentioned about the way Nicole said _‘rester’_? Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her or it could’ve been the lighting casting a film over the alpha’s eyes, resembling a dreamy lovestruck look.

She shakes her head. Scoffing at the idea that Nicole could possibly have any sort of feelings towards her. Looking around, it makes sense. The entire restaurant filled with patrons dressed in the finest clothes marked with expensive brand names, the meals, even the cheese platter sitting on the table before her is rich and practically worth more than anything the brunette can possibly hope to own. Waverly’s tried her hand at buying some imported cheese once, intent on cooking something that evening with the finest quality of ingredients she could find in the city. And she does. At the expense of being able to buy herself lunch for the next few days.

Hell, Nicole said it herself: she got married here.

Probably dressed in a ravishing black dress, much like the one she’s wearing now, happily smiling and waiting beside the altar with the priest or minister, while Shae walks down the aisle in a long white dress, face covered with a veil. Holding a bouquet of possibly the rarest flowers imaginable because they were both born into powerful and influential families, the ceremony being held in front of a congregation full of friends, family and colleagues with just as much pull as themselves. It’s a joyous affair from the moment Mendelssohn’s March starts, to the end when they finally say ‘I do’ and rice is thrown up into the air and a flock of doves are set free overhead.

The closest Waverly would ever get to having an extravagant wedding is dressing up nicely and heading down to the courthouse to marry her soon to be wife or husband.

A bit pessimistic, but the circumstances of her life have taught her to be realistic. Optimism and dreams are only for those with enough money and luck.

Nicole then returns to their table with three men in tow.

The first is Jeremy, the only one of the three that she knows. Wearing an incredibly dapper ensemble featuring khaki pants, a buttoned up white shirt with the sleeves rolled back around his elbows, beneath a white sweater vest pristine and perfect and not a single wrinkle in sight, topped off with a pair of unassuming slip-ons. And the pièce de résistance, if the bright red, almost scarlet colored bow tie on his collar. Jeremy smiles at her with an awkward wave and she imagines him to be the type who had his nose stuck in books during high school, striving to get good grades and forgoing any sort of social interaction.

He probably didn’t have much friends growing up, always the target for some idiot jock’s jokes and constantly being shoved into lockers. Waverly bites the inside of her cheek.

The second man is of Asian-descent, a beta, and the familiarity in the gait of his walk beside Nicole leads Waverly to believe that they are friends. Naturally, this must be Perry. His hair is slicked back and the material of his floral shirt, while silky, isn’t the of same high-class quality as many of the other members she seen around the club, blouses against his well-toned frame. The same can be said for the jeans he wears while the only thing on his person that is even remotely worth a second, bewildering glance are the expensive multi-colored checkerboard shoes on his feet.

The third man looks just as out of place. Unlike everyone else, he wears a simple dark blue plaid button down and a wife beater peeking from beneath it. The blue jeans are worn, seeing some better days and his work boots are no better. The entire outfit alone is enough to have several patrons in the restaurant peer their nose down at him, barely able to regard him with a dignified glance deserving of a human being. But the man doesn’t care, it doesn’t even phase him. The kind of confidence pertaining to a politician, a lawyer, or a determined realtor. His pale blue eyes shine bright as he smiles beneath that thick mustache of his.

Going as far as to tip his _cowboy hat_ in greeting.

“Waverly, I’d like you to meet Perry Crofte, owner of both the Spring Rabbit on 17th Avenue and the Crofte Gallery over on 11th.” Perry smiles and they shake hands, his grip is strong but soft and delicate. The hands of artist. She catches a whiff of Japanese cherry blossoms.

“And this is Doc Holliday, my personal financier and accountant.” Not exactly the line of work she imagined, but they shake hands as well. He’s stronger, heavy handed and calloused, all the same his hands are impeccably soft, and the omega is well in the assumption that the man had to be ranch hand sometime in his life.

But just as Doc’s occupation, and even his own name strikes up momentary confusion and shock, it’s the scent she smells beneath his cologne. Earthy, akin to coffee grounds, wood and pine. Doc Holliday is an omega.

And Waverly curses herself for falling into that mindset of assuming all omegas to be small and lithe.

“Pleasure to meet you both,” she greets and both men smile warmly.

“The pleasure is all ours, Miss Waverly,” Doc says before turning toward the alpha with a sly grin, “And Nicole’s as well I can imagine.”

Perry chuckles, Jeremy widens his eyes and Nicole huffs. Falling in line with the rest of them, the brunette forces a smile of her own. The gears in her mind start to turn with embarrassment.

Just how many more people knew of this contract? On her end it was just herself and Chrissy and really Chrissy only served as her referral. But on the alpha’s side it’s five people and on that same note, only four who are really in favor, or at least hold no ill will against it.

Victor being the only one who apparently can’t stand it. Or at least outwardly voices his opinion.

“We should get going, you know how irritable Bobo and Bulshar get when they are kept waiting.” Doc says with a knowing look. To which the alpha sighs.

“Alright. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, I don’t want to spend an hour listening to Bobo monologuing.” Nicole then turns to Jeremy. “You wouldn’t mind staying with Waverly, just for a little while?”

“If that’s okay with her?” Jeremy asks and Waverly, without a second thought, nods her head.

“Good.” Nicole grins, almost relieved in a way, before promising to be back soon.

 

* * *

 

Waverly spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon with Jeremy. The omega, once they had gotten over the awkward small talk phase, is incredibly easy to talk to. Discovering that they have many things in common, a mutual like of history being one even though they both disagree on the merits of interacting with uncontacted people. Even as they take a quiet stroll around the club, Jeremy regaling her with amazing stories and narrowly missing a golf ball to the head—of which the bumbling idiot who swung it was some old man who apparently couldn’t be faulted due to his poor eyesight, not that anyone cares enough to keep him from playing the sport—the omega enjoys herself.

Naturally, she is still wary of ordering things and taking advantage of the many activities Whitewater has to offer. Even if Jeremy assures her that anything she decides to order from the bar or any of the nearby restaurants won’t so much as make a dent in Nicole’s bank account, she buckles down. Staying firm and refusing to so much as ask for a glass of water.

Currently, Jeremy is busy telling Waverly of the time he managed to convince Nicole, Shae, Dolls and Perry into going on a hunt for the elusive creature known as Bigfoot. He is immediately met skepticism; as much as the brunette believes in the possibility, that yes, there are paranormal and supernatural things in the world can’t be explained readily with logic and science. But the fact that alpha, as level headed as she seems, apparently took part in this hunt is a bit hard to swallow.

They come across the park in the center of the club and take a seat on a bench in front of a fountain. “I’m a city boy, born and raised in South Manitoba, I didn’t belong in the suburbs, much less the woods! But I’ve always had an interest in cryptozoology and I’ve always wanted to go on a hunt for one of them. I figure Bigfoot would the much safer option.”

“Safer option? Compared to what? Waverly asks, curious.

“Uh, the Jersey Devil for one. Anything involving demons or demonic stuff, I’m staying far away from.”

Jeremy continues. “Plus, there was no way I was going to get Nicole away from the office long enough for a trip to New Jersey. So, looking for Bigfoot was the next best thing. Like, I went ahead and bought state-of-the-art cameras and recording equipment. Hell, Dolls even took note of how many lunch breaks I had to work through just to have enough to buy a drone.”

“And did you guys go out to the mountains like you wanted?”

The omega is ecstatic eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. “We went up to Mount Alberta within the week. On out first day we hiked up a long trail, I help Shae and Perry set up camp while Dolls and Nicole ran off to go rock climbing.”

“And I’m a city boy, remember? As much as I love them both, I’m wasn’t about to go chasing after them. I almost twisted my ankle walking to the campsite, thankfully I had Shae to hold on to. Though, she pretty much dragged me by the ears while Perry kept going over his map.” Jeremy is sheepish and to hear what sounds to be an absolute shitshow of a time, its endearing to hear him tell the story.

How normal it paints all these people, so different from the rich versions of them she’s already met and grown accustomed to. Especially Nicole. It’s sweet to hear about the older woman taking a week off to help her friend/assistant scour the mountains for some imaginary creature. All because he wanted to and didn’t want to do so alone.

“So, did you guys ever catch a glimpse of bigfoot?”

Jeremy sighs and shakes his head, “Sadly, no. Although we did have a run in with a bear.”

“Christ, a bear?”

“Hey now, it wasn’t _my fault,_ they went to get some water at the nearby river because Dolls drank it all and Nicole forgot to pack an extra canteen. Shae wanted me to get down and dirty with the rest of them so we all went. We stayed a little longer than necessary because Nicole just had to snap a few shots of the salmon jumping out of the water—tore her a new asshole, I did, when this giant one jumped and smacked me in the face—but just when we’re ready to go, in comes this massive grizzly bear on the other side of the river.”

“Seriously?” And he nods as though he himself couldn’t believe it.

“Oh yeah, immediately we all start backing up slowly. Except Nicole and Perry.”

“For God’s sake.”

“That’s what I said! He’s dumbstruck and she’s laying on the ground snapping the bear’s damn picture!”

At this Waverly starts to giggle, Jeremy joins in and before they both know it, they are overcome with laughter. The beta tries to continue the story, but is unable to, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes while he keels over the edge of the bench, holding his stomach. Waverly is busy wiping the tears away from her own eyes trying to calm down. The omega doesn’t know what on earth has come over her, but the feeling of it, the lighthearted minute of momentary happiness fills her chest until she’s ready to burst.

It’s been so long since she’s laughed like this.

Lately life has been a rollercoaster of new experiences and emotions and laughter isn’t exactly something that factors into everything. If at all, anything.

It’s nice being able to take a step back from how hectic her life has been and just laugh like she’s still a normal person again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicole's [Metal Circle Embellished Dress by David Koma](https://www.intermixonline.com/david-koma/metal-circle-embellished-dress/DK12DA.html) and [Francesco Russo Cutout Suede Sandals](https://www.intermixonline.com/francesco-russo/cutout-suede-sandals/R1S087-201-200.html)  
> Perry's [Chinese Temple Chery Blossom Tattoo](https://www.wildtattooart.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/cherry-blossom-tattoos-10031765.jpg).  
> Dirty Mind has a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/vodkabite/playlist/75TIKsClhGpmIA43iVieca?si=XdvZetnfRq-fs4agdmyf0A) as do many others.  
> \---
> 
> Well I'll be damned, a week and some odd days from making a month since the last last update and it's happening _now?_ Usually it takes a while to get a chapter of this length out. Could I be sick? Probably.
> 
> Originally the chapter was to going to have Waverly butting heads with a few people, but by the time I reached 7,000+ words I had to call it quits or else the chapter would've been close to 11k. So that's going to be for next time.
> 
> Lastly, wow... We're on Chapter 10 everybody. Chapter 10. Specifically **Day 3** of Nicole and Waverly's Contract. We're a lot closer to the end now with only two days left in it. To get this far is amazing and I'm pretty sure you guys are tired of always seeing me say thank you in the notes for every chapter -- but it has to be said.
> 
> Writing isn't easy and keeping a coherent narrative consistent and actually sticking with it until the end is extremely fucking hard. Believe me. I'm the first to state that in the past I've had a nasty habit of deleting fics from sites whenever I've given up on writing them. _Monsters Under Your Bed_ , _The End of the World Party_ , _Faithful and Faithless_ and recently, _Like a Rockstar_ as prime examples.
> 
> But DM is still here; it's still here and it's not going anywhere.


	11. Chapter 11

Waverly and Jeremy continue their walk around the country club, taking the many twists and turns through the clusters of small villas dotted throughout the property, and the different facilities located strategically along their path. Counting the number of champagne and wine glasses she saw in the hands of the members, her own little game which currently sits at 37.

“Do you like being Nicole’s personal assistant?” Waverly asks.

“Totally, best job I’ve ever had,” he says. “Sure, the hours are suffocating and more often than not I have to deal with the usual breedist prick, but it’s great.”

Waverly nods her head in understanding.

She’s never once had to deal with any sort of bigotry, personally. All her life, Waverly had always been surrounded by open-minded people. People who knew that there was more to life and all its unimaginable wonders than to waste time and effort judging people; basing their worth and contribution to humanity on their biology.

On their breed.

Something that can’t be changed, the same way a person can’t change the color of their skin.

“Does it happen often?” She asks, curious.

“No, not everyone we come across has this incredible dislike of omegas.”

“But when you do?”

For a moment, their fun time slide to the grassy ground beneath them. “I just try to ignore it.”

“It’s hard sometimes,” Jeremy says, giving her a faraway look. “You’re trying to work and do your job, but some idiot in a business suit says otherwise.” He clears is throat. “Looks at you like you don’t deserve the amazing job you have. That the only reason as to why you’re even graced with the opportunity of being in their presence is solely out of pity. If not, then you’re just a piece of meat.”

“Jeremy…”

“Sometimes I don’t know which is worse,” he explains. “But, uh, it’s not all bad, you know? Working with Nicole. We have fun and she never works us too hard, always telling us to take a break and chill. She had a bunch of stuff put into the break room; pool table, video games, everything you can imagine. Once a month we have tournaments.”

“Does she ever join them?”

“Not really. She spends most of her time in her office, or in meetings with board members, lunch dates with colleagues and investors.”

Waverly scratches the inside of her wrist. Brows furrowing upwards softly, somberly. “Not even with friends?”

“She does. She tries.” Jeremy adds. “Just not all the time. It isn’t easy.”

“Oh, okay.” Nothing is in this world, she thought. Everyone puts up a front and has a secret to hide, the difference is: some hide it better than others. She bites her bottom lip.

“I’m probably rambling a bit more than I should,” He says sheepishly. “But Nicole takes care of those closest to her. Hell, she agreed to help me hunt Bigfoot. Not a lot of people would do that.”

“You’re right.”

“I mean, she goes as far as to give Perry’s girlfriend a modeling job just to keep her off the streets.”

“Wait, off the streets?” She asks before leaning forward, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Like prostitution?”

“She’s more of an escort, technically,” He replies, voice kept at a normal volume. Apparently talk of this nature is commonplace at Whitewater Country Club. Honestly, if extramarital affairs run rampant among its members to the point that the club itself practically goes out of its way to stay secretive in regard to their exploits, she should’ve figured.

“Stephanie used to be a full-time model,” Jeremy continues. “But she never had her big break and when professional jobs started becoming scarce she turned to an escort service.”

“And as an escort, does she ever… you know…?”

He nods his head. “The money’s a lot better and more consistent. Sometimes the businessmen who hire her know Perry. Can’t tell you how many times he’s gone to a function or benefit and sees her on someone else’s arm.”

Waverly is completely flabbergasted. She straightens her back as they take a walk back towards the main building, unable to believe what she’s hearing. This world of interconnecting relationships spider webbing across the other into a clustered mess is beyond confusing. On top of what can only be described as a plague-like epidemic of unfaithful affairs, cheating husbands and dishonest wives. Casual and known to all, masquerading under the guise of some dysfunctional form of polyamory. She stares at Jeremy, searching his eyes for an answer to all this madness and he responds nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Hey, there’s nothing we can do. The brunette shakes her head and refuses to believe that these impossibly rich bastards are so ravenously void of any sort of moral compass.

‘Eat the Rich’ is a concept she’s quite familiar with her years or reading literature and history—Wynonna even going through a rebellious phase as a teenager where she practically lived and died by it; it’s as if it were the French Revolution and she was some lowly peasant woman keen on butchering a few noblemen in their beds and lobbing the queen’s head off with a meat cleaver—supported by the idea that sometime, someday, the working class would rise up once more with torches and pitchforks; dismantling the establishment and having the streets run red with blue blood. But there’s no point in having to do any of that when the rich themselves are ethically cannibalizing each other!

She feels sick.

She never agreed to be given such an in-depth look into this world.

“H-How does Perry feel about that? About knowing that whenever he sees his girlfriend with some older man, they’re probably going to end up sleeping together.”

“Furious. Frustrated. Disengaged.”

She bites her bottom lip again. “Why is he still with her then? I doubt he actually likes being made a fool.”

“Oh they have, but Perry doesn’t want to let her go. Even while believing that she’s doing this not only for the money but because she can’t stand the sight of him anymore. Too much tension and problems at this point.”

“So now it’s Perry’s fault.”

“A while back he went up the mountains on a hiking trip and came across what appeared to be an abandoned wolf pup. Turns out it wasn’t alone because the mother mistook him as a threat and attacked him, completely tore up his shoulder and his chest. Ruined the tattoo he had.”

Waverly blinks. “His tattoo?”  _Nicole said he lost it in a car accident._

“Yeah, the accident left him horribly scarred. Perry thinks Stephanie loves him but can’t help but be repulsed by him.”

“That’s unfair.”

“It is. She has sex with others while moonlighting as an escort to compensate for them being unable to.”

By the end of the week if Waverly doesn’t go insane right alongside these people, she’s not sure what will happen.

“Sometimes you want people to realize and understand that their current way of doing things is messed up. That a change needs to happen if they want to survive.”

He licks his lips tentatively. “Or else be doomed to stay stuck in it forever.”

“But they have to see these things out for themselves, you can’t help someone who doesn’t want it.”

“Exactly.”

They fall into a quiet silence, save for Jeremy apologizing for swiftly changing gears from their jovial discussion on Bigfoot, cryptozoological investigation and why bringing an avid photographer to a (now known) bear hotspot is asking for trouble, to an incredibly frustrating and albeit somber window into the secretive lives of some of the country’s elite. On their way back, the stop by in front of a small snack and juice bar with an array of chairs and tables beneath large umbrellas out front.

But then Jeremy, suddenly thirsty, although Waverly suspects it has more to do with the cute barista behind the counter in an apron instead of the less than appetizing selection of meals and beverages listed on their specials sign, heads for the juice bar. Waverly lets him go, the omega male practically checking his appearance in the reflective screen of his phone.

A quick, “how do I look?” before she sends him off with an extra bounce in his step. Grateful that the bar is void of customers, save for the old man currently sleeping at one of the tables. Waverly makes a face, trying not to point. But Jeremy waves a dismissive hand.

“Don’t worry about him.” He says. “He always comes around at this time to take a nap there.”

Ah. “Okay then.”

While Jeremy is busy trying to casually lean against the counter of the juice bar in an attempt to be cool, Waverly takes a walk around the corner towards the portion of the restaurant dedicated solely to serving quick on the go snacks and small portioned meals, probably running with a healthy/dietary gimmick judging by the amount of times the words ‘100% organic’ is written next to every item on the menus. On a rack beside the counter is a number of snacks that look as unappealing as they are expensive. She truly wants to know as to what well-meaning individual thought up of creating and marketing tofu chocolate bars. To her intrigue, there’s several of these chocolates covered tofu bars lined up in different colored packages. Some advertising the inclusion of peanuts, cinnamon, orange zest, and extra peanuts.

Even with dabbling in veganism from time to time, whenever she could afford it, Waverly would never shell out close to three dollars one of these appetite suppressants.

She does what the majority of Canadians and slightly hungry normal thinking people would do, go for the cheaper, tooth rotting candy bars sitting behind the counter.

“One milk chocolate Hershey bar, please.”

“No problem,” the older man behind the counter says with a smile, “That’ll be two dollars.”

“Sure.” _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!_

It’s highway robbery. But she reaches into her purse—the same croc-embossed leather handbag with the Saint Laurent logo monogramed on the side, worth two thousand dollars—and hands the man the bills in exchange for the chocolate bar that would’ve costed a dollar back home.

She then takes a seat at one of the tables, the overhead umbrella proving shade, and takes it upon herself to return to the land of the poor and downtrodden. The peasants who have to spend their lives working just to afford the chance of being turned away at the country club’s gates.

Scrolling through the dashboard of her Instagram, she likes all the photos she sees Chrissy had taken while on the job at the bookstore. Continuing downward she finds Wynonna’s photos, whiskey bottles mostly, and gives them a like.

It’s a mindless action that brings comfort, that is until she sees one of Champ posing shirtless in front of his pickup truck with sunglasses on. Arms raised and flexing for the camera. Rolling her eyes, Waverly immediately skips past him, wondering to herself as to why she still follows the egotistical idiot.

The omega finds him again on her feed, but this time in the form of a minute-long video. Out of curiosity she presses her thumb on the post and the video plays, dated yesterday in the afternoon.

The video itself isn’t different from anything else she’s seen of the beta on social media. He’s just telling the camera what he did during the day, always exaggerating the details to appeal to a wider audience. Brandishing the slightly bruise beneath his left eye as some sort of trophy; Nicole never touched him, so Champ must have gotten it at Shorty’s for trying to pick a fight with someone.

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath before putting the phone down.

Just in time to catch a small boy—no less than seven-years-old—standing on his tip toes and leaning over the counter trying to grab someone’s attention. The older gentleman who had attended her was probably in the back and couldn’t hear him, and since Jeremy and the cute barista he was trying to flirt with were on the other side, chatting amicably, it would be awhile before someone heard the boy’s call.

The boy huffs. He then tries to launch himself higher into the air and onto the counter to grab a candy bar. But try as he might, he can’t seem to get his footing until he finally does and is halfway on top before he starts wriggling his feet at the lack of solid ground beneath. He’s back on the right side of the stand and growls.

“Here.”

The boy turns around and makes a face before pointing to himself. “M-Me?”

“Yeah.” Waverly nods, holding out a piece of the Hershey bar towards him. “I’d rather share with you than to see you get in trouble; sit with me until they come back.”

The boy looks back towards the empty counter, and then around, before coming closer. He accepts the piece of chocolate and takes a seat opposite Waverly. He’s definitely seven and from the expensive dark jeans, the white shirt with the Emporio Armani bird logo located on the breast pocket and the pair of sneakers on his feet, there’s no doubt in the omega’s mind that he’s someone’s child.

“Do you know where your parents are?” She asks softly, “They must be worried about you.”

He shakes his head. “They’re busy.”

“What’s your name?” Waverly asks, starting off slow not wanting to startle the boy.

“Mason.”

“Well, Mason, are your parents too busy to pay attention to you?”

“They’re too busy to pay attention to anything.”

She hands him another piece of the Hershey bar and he takes it gladly, thanking her even without raising his head so she can see his face. Waverly bites her bottom lip.

“Do they work a lot?”

The boy, Mason, looks up and scratches his arm. “Sometimes they do.”

He has a full head of thick blonde hair combed back with a few unruly strands refusing to conform, falling over his forehead to the side of his bright, honey-golden eyes. He then smiles shyly, fair cheeks blushing a pretty pink.

“You’re pretty.” He says, eyes then trained on a small speck on the table instead of Waverly’s own. She smiles, he’s sweet and cautious. A far cry from the confidence his alpha scent predicts for him later in life. He’ll learn when he’s older.

“Thank you, Mason, and you’re quite handsome yourself.” He blushes harder, going as far as to rub his own face to erase the embarrassment.

“That’s what my Mama always says,” he sulks.

Waverly leans back against the chair, breaking one last piece and handing it to him. “Well, she’s right.”

He shrugs his shoulders. Definitely at _that_ age.

“She always says stuff like that, and Mommy does too. But they say it too much.”

“And you don’t like it?” He nods. “How come?”

“Sometimes I don’t feel handsome.”

“Do you sometimes feel ugly?” She asks, and Mason gives her a look of disgust.

“I don’t feel _good._ Not ugly.” He corrects, and Waverly apologizes; mentally facepalming because, yeah, the kid may have feelings of inadequacy, but god forbid he isn’t narcissistic enough to not know that he’s a good looking, angel-faced brat.

Unbelievable.

“Do you have a grandpa?”

“I used to, but he, uh, he passed away.”

Before Grandpa Edwin succumbed to his long battle with lung cancer, he used to regale the girls with stories about cowboys and bandits in the Wild West. His visits were always signified by the sound of _Blue Suede Shoes_ playing loudly from the cassette player in his car, Elvis Presley’s deep voice crooning verse after verse into the air while he sings alone. Slightly tone-deaf and leaving a trail of wilting flowers after him.

“I’m sorry.” Mason mumbles, eyes tempering and almost teary. Waverly notes that he tries to hold them back, sniffling and wiping his nose. “I don’t like my grandpa,” he adds, sniffling again. “He wants me to do things I don’t like.”

“Yeah? Like what, Mason?”

“Sports. Football, mostly.”

“Have you tried talking to your grandpa?” It’s a fair question but can already surmise that doing so wouldn’t matter.

He shakes his head. “He doesn’t care, he wants me to be a big strong alpha.”

Waverly bites her tongue to hold back a growl, angrily, she crumples up the brown wrapper and its silver foil into a tight ball before chucking towards the nearby garbage bin. Mason regards with an inquisitive look, curious to know what her next move will be. What guiding light she’ll bestow upon him to follow.

She’s seen all the wonders and privilege that come with being wealthy and important, growing up with ideas that everything would fine, everything would be perfect, if she had several hundred thousand dollars to her name. That her world would be filled with vibrant colors, instead of the usual bleak and monochrome tones sprinkled here and there to ruin the overall picture.

Oh, how ignorance is surely bliss; now that she’s on the other side of the glass with a firsthand look, she’s knows that every childhood fantasy of dreaming to be like the characters on her once favorite television show centered around rich kids in high school is a complete fallacy.

“You don’t have to be a football player or play sports to be a strong alpha.” The omega exclaims. “You can be whatever you want to be, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Can I get a smile then? A big one!”

Mason smiles brightly and Waverly can’t help but mirror him. She sees a jogger stop by the snack bar, panting and wheezing before walking towards the counter where the sweet old man from earlier, still in his apron with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up around his shoulders. She then turns back to Mason.

“Hey, there’s—” but he’s gone. Looking around, the boy is nowhere to be seen and Waverly, suddenly stricken with terror, stands to look for him. The majority of the area is completely barren, save for the random instances of people walking up and down the path.

“Are you alright there Miss?” The jogger asks, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. The old man behind the counter is just as concerned.

“D-Did you see a boy here? Just now?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Right now, when you came, I wasn’t sitting with a child? Blonde hair, alpha?”

The jogger shakes his head and the old man shrugs his shoulders, doing the same. “You were sitting by yourself and on your phone.”

_Oh…_

Seeing no other reason as to continue asking for Mason, she cuts her losses and puts a hand to her forehead. Blaming her momentary confusion on the heat and apologizing to them for invoking a slight sense of panic at the thought of a missing child. She checks her phone again before returning it back inside her handbag and walking around the corner to the juice bar with Jeremy and his crush.

“Hey, sorry about that.” His face is too thickly shrouded in an ethereal glow and the omega can’t blame him.

“No problem.”

 

 

As they continue their walk, Waverly vigilantly watches all the people they pass by. All the people walking the same path, dressed in expensive clothing made from the finest material, the numerous luxury brand logos embossed on their shirts, their pants, their sneakers, their hats and purses. Each one she sees, at first, is recognizable, but they further they go and the more members they come across—casually greeting a few with smiles and waves—the stranger and obscure the names are. It’s almost funny, these people don’t know that the brunette isn’t one of them, the dress and the heels and the handbag providing the perfect cover. The guards at Remus Pointe and the bodyguard Saks had turned their noses up at her, smelling the scent of poverty emanating from her pores. But here she is, deep in the heart of one of the most exclusive country club in all of Alberta, and no one can tell that her base salary is less than fraction of the average required to even be offered a membership here. Or maybe, that’s the just it: there isn’t much of a difference besides the ability to actually be able to afford all of life’s materialistic treasures.

But even as she thinks this, ready to reconcile her feelings about these people, she comes across a group of older men huddled together in a pack-like formation strolling past them. Half stare at Jeremy and herself with distrust, while the others turn their heads away in revulsion. A few were growling as well and that gets Jeremy to move faster.

Of course, right when she is just about to change her whole view, she is reminded of why the gap between the rich bastards and people like herself exists.

To be frank, Waverly can’t wait for this day to end. For Nicole to finishing up her meeting and for them to go back to Remus Pointe and forget everything and anything having to do with Whitewater Country Club and the insanity-inducing madness of its disingenuous members.

And to her immense displeasure, the day won’t end without the omega having to come face to face with one of them.

“FORE!”

They see it coming at the last minute, golf ball hurling towards them at lightning speed like a meteor barreling through the clouds in a display of fire and chaos. Jeremy is quick on his feet and grabs Waverly by the forearms with a sort of strength only bestowed upon those in an adrenaline fight or flight rush and pushes to the side where the ball sails past them. Like a bullet, it breaks through the air before embedding itself into the side of a trash can. The impact leaving a brutal and obvious dent into its once pristine and magnificent side where it bounces off and slowly rolls back. Coming to stop beside Jeremy’s foot.

“Hey, you okay?” Jeremy asks, eyes wide, still panting.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. You?” He nods his head before releasing the tight hold he has on her arms and sigh with relief. Rubbing them in remorse, silently apologizing for grabbing her so forcefully.

He then bends down to pick up the golf ball still sitting on the ground beside his foot. The small dimpled white ball with the initials ‘WCC’ monogrammed onto its surface is insignificant and the irony that this tiny thing could have caused so much damage doesn’t escape her.

Instead she looks to its owner, the one who hurled the ball their way. To the horizon, a golf cart leisurely strolls down the vibrant green hill it sat upon towards them. There are two men dressed in white and both of them, underneath the shadow of the rim of their golf hat look less than pleased.

Waverly doesn’t know why, until they get closer and start whistling at them. “Hey, hey boy, hand the ball over.”

“Good god no,” Jeremy groans quietly under his breath. “Not them. Not again.”

“Hurry up, boy, I don’t have all day for you to be wasting my time. Let’s go.” One of the men, short brown hair and thick black-rimmed glasses, huffs agitatedly. Jeremy moves to give back the golf ball, but Waverly grabs his wrist.

The man with the glasses narrows his eyes and growls. “Are you fucking deaf?”

But before Waverly, or even Jeremy is able to stop her from lowering herself to the rude man’s level, she bites back. “Are you fucking blind? You could’ve hurt someone!”

“I said ‘fore’ or do you not know basic golf terminology?”

“Do you not know what it means to be a decent human being?” The brunette challenges. “My friend and I could have gotten hurt and yet, you still haven’t apologized.”

The man stares at her intently, lip curling back in disgust. As if she could have the sheer audacity to not only stand up to him, but to also think that she deserved an apology. How positively absurd!

Despite there being several instances in ancient history where omegas are revered and celebrated—the Mayans worshiped omegas as harbingers of life and new beginnings and Genghis Khan serving as a warlord for the largest contiguous empire in history—they say that ever since the dawning of recorded history, omegas have always been considered second-class citizens at best, property at worst. Centuries spent being nothing more than slaves, concubines, bargaining chips, pawns in someone else’s games, have prepared her for this.

That deep inside their DNA, ingrained into the cells that serve as the building blocks of the human body, an omega inherently knows when they are being reduced to the bare bones of their existence by a breedist. A bigoted prick who believes in the delusion that their breed is superior and unquestionably deserving of everything the world has to offer.

The man with the thick black-rimmed glasses and unending sneer of disgust etched onto his features is no different.

“How dare you talk to me that way, you little bitch.” He spits, hands balling into fists at his sides. “I ought to have you and whatever pitiful wretch you lay under removed from this club immediately!”

“On what grounds, you undignified bastard?”

“Undignified?” The man gasps, pale face turning several shades of red. Almost purple. _“Undignified?”_

“Waverly… let’s just leave.” Jeremy tries, but the brunette remains firm.

The man sputters and trembles in anger, he’s a powder keg on the verge of exploding. Yet, the second man seen riding around on the golf cart, steps off. Dressed in the same white attire as per the club’s rules, he towers over everyone considerably and while his height leaves much to be intimidated of, his movements across the space between them is silent.

It’s only when he stands before them that Waverly realizes who he is.

“Now, now, Tucker, let’s not get too hasty.” Victor says, clapping a strong hand on the man’s shoulder. “It was an accident, but you did almost hit them. So, apologize.”

“I will not!” The man, now known as Tucker, shrugs Victor’s hand away. “I single-handedly built a prestigious university made to produce a treasure trove of successful alumni. I am an impact player, a Gardner, and if you think that I will sully my good name just to appease some omega bitch than you sir, are even more of a fool than they are!”

Waverly’s eyes widen into saucers. How can a human being be so repulsive? Now she truly understands and feels more than sorry for Jeremy for having to deal with this level of humanity’s worse on a regular basis. Frustrated, that the man Ghost River University constantly regards as a role model and leader to the hundreds of students filing through its doors, going as far as to name their library after, is an unredeemable breedist prick.

She is now more than thankful for not winning the Tucker Gardner Excellence in Academics Award last semester.

“Tucker, please. Have some dignity, it wouldn’t kill you to apologize to them.”

“Never.” Tucker snarls. Turning sharply on his heel, he returns to the golf cart. “You alphas may enjoy playing the hero to a bunch of dirty omegas, gets your fucking cocks hard. But we betas have higher standards and I refuse to waste any more of my precious time with the likes of a sniveling little coward and some uncouth whore!”

“You are over exaggerating,” Victor sighs.

But Tucker gets on the golf car and the engine roars to life viciously, the beta throwing the vehicle into reverse before putting it back into drive and slamming his foot down on the pedal. The vibrant green grass is ruined beneath the burning rubber, a small cloud of dirt filling the air as he takes off. Waverly sighs, relieved that she no longer has to deal with such a horrid bastard. Only to be reminded, and proven deathly wrong, that Victor is still here.

Tucker showed all his colors, Victor hasn’t.

“I am truly sorry that you had to deal with that. He has an inferiority complex and has been indoctrinated since birth with the idea that he’s a descendant of the Romanov Family; the rightful heir to the Russian throne.” Victor chuckles, “Despite half the country for the past century claiming it for themselves as well.”

Waverly doesn’t join him in his obvious merriment; of course, he’d find such a thing hilarious. Since the untimely assassination of Tsar Nicholas II and his entire family in 1918, not a year goes by where someone isn’t claiming to be Anastasia or a descendant of the last royal family to the country’s name. All the while the alpha’s own pedigree is well documented and known to anyone with a semblance functioning brain matter.

It’s amazing to see that medieval rivalry still being upheld in the modern era.

Nevertheless, she could honestly care less. “Still, doesn’t absolve him from acting like a complete asshole.”

“Won’t find me arguing with you there.”

“So, why go golfing with him, then?”

Victor shrugs his shoulders. “Business.”

The brunette frowns, shaking her head at him. She’s already standing at the edge of an abyss full of preying hyenas clawing at the walls for the next meal. Why not lean over the rabbit hole and see what more could be revealed about this messed up world. “He’s a horrible and disrespectful person, but let’s excuse all his less than reputable actions because he’s a great business partner?”

A shiver runs up her spine at the look in Victor’s eyes: a quiet split-second change before returning to the faux kindness playing upon his face. Had she not witnessed the kind of person he is behind closed doors she would’ve fallen for it too.

“We all have to do things we don’t want in order to get ahead; life is all about sacrifice.” He explains as a matter-of-factly.

“Not when it comes to morals and ethics.”

“Everything has a price, I’m sure we can agree on that.”

He smirks. A true, honest to god smirk; a wolfish smile that shakes the omega down to her core. Teeth bared, with a hint of fangs peeking out against his bottom lip. Eyes turning red for a few heartbeats before settling back into their natural honey-golden color beneath the shadow of his hat. If he could, he’d eat her alive and use her bones to pick his teeth.

Victor knows who she is, there’s no doubt in her mind, about that. For once, Waverly doesn’t know what to do or say next. Especially with knowing the kind of person he is behind closed doors.

“Yeah, uh huh, w-we’ll be right there,” she hears Jeremy say, on the phone before hanging up. “Hey Waverly, the meetings over so we should head on back.”

The shift in Jeremy’s demeanor does not go unnoticed. Be neither Waverly, or Victor.

“Cole’s finished? Well, why don’t I walk with you?” He’s not leaving and Jeremy visibly flinches.

“Oh, that’s no necessary—”

“Nonsense!” The alpha cuts in with a dismissive cut of his eyes. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Victor bends his arm, extending it towards Waverly. “Shall we?”

She takes it, not wanting to know what would happen if she didn’t.

 

 

“She was a wild child, messy too. More often than not my wife would have to bathe her after every meal, especially if we had pasta. She loves the sauce, so much so that most of it would end up on her face than in her mouth.” Victor laughs.

“When she was five, for the entire year, she would come to us and say that she wanted to be a firefighter, a doctor, a police officer. Every day she wanted to be something different. Every day was a different dream.”

Waverly, against the wishes of the most rational and logical parts of her mind, smiles. Genuinely smiles at the number of stories Victor tells her about Nicole’s childhood. The fun, wild child who went through so many phases in an attempt to find herself. The rock star phase where she had the habit of wearing heavy eyeliner stolen from her older sister’s makeup kits, the paleontologist phase where dinosaurs were so awesome and all she wanted to do was watch documentaries on them. It’s cute. Imagining a small ginger-haired child with bright eyes and an even brighter mind, so curious about the world around her and where she fit into it. Inquisitive and full of big fantastical dreams.

Admittedly, she enjoys hearing all of it. If she had to make a definitive choice between learning the ins and outs of the world that belongs to people like Victor, Tucker Gardner, and everyone else within the 1%, and learning everything she can about Nicole’s life as a human being instead of wealthy CEO, she’d pick the latter. Wholeheartedly, pick the latter. More than anything else in the world.

The toxicity of this wretched lifestyle is cancerous. And walking beside Victor, arm in arm with him while Jeremy sweats profusely behind them, is only furthering that idea.

“And now?” She asks. “What do you think of her?”

The alpha gives her a pearly white smile. “Of course. She’s the apple of my eye and I’m more than proud of how she’s handled the company, we’re going to be publicly traded in a few months.”

Waverly puts up a smile. “Must be exciting.”

“It is… but,” He starts. “What about you? To my knowledge, you’re Nicole’s friend. Correct?”

“Y-Yes…?”

“Is that a question or a statement?” He asks, his voice suddenly has a certain edge to it and instantly a wave of apprehension washes over her.

“It’s a statement.”

“How sure are you of that? After all, you two just met not too long ago.”

Waverly narrows her eyes.

“We just met, yes. But I feel like we’re going to be good friends even if it’s just a little while.”

It’s a complete and utter lie. They both know this, but Waverly isn’t about to paint her relationship with Nicole in a negative light by verbally stamping a legitimate expiration date on it. Everyone who is aware of their contract knows that by the end of the week, three days so far and two left to go, she’ll be gone. Her college tuition and student loans will be paid for and she’ll never come across the likes of them ever again. The brunette already harbors ill will about the technicality that she is indeed, by sheer definition alone, a prostitute.

It’s taken time, and effort, and learning just how ravenous these people are, for her to accept and embrace this once in a lifetime experience; as too good to be true as it is. But she’ll be damned to is she will willingly let this snake of a man corner her in such a way.

She’ll stares at the alpha and is only pulled away from his intense gaze when they arrive at the club’s main building, a short walk around the corner where they spot Nicole in front of it. Arms crossed and furious, the forced smile plastered to her features is pulled so tight it’ll split her face in half if pulled any further.

“What’s this?” Waverly can already see the vein throbbing angrily on Nicole’s forehead.

Victor nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders. “Just having a little chat with Waverly.”

“Clearly. How’d you guys meet?”

“Through Tucker—”

 _“Tucker?”_ Nicole exclaims.

“Calm down, he said a few things before speeding off in his golf cart in a huff.”

“It’s never ‘just a few things’ with that bastard.”

“Nothing that hasn’t been dealt with before.”

“Doesn’t matter, things are different, and you know that.”

“Since when?”

“I’m not having this discussion with you,” Nicole barks.

“See how she antagonizes me, Waverly?”

“You are far from a victim—”

“And are _you_ really going to lecture me on what makes a victim and what doesn’t?” Victor snorts. “Excuse me for not having the required number of scars needed to qualify for victimhood.”

“Good God why must everything be so difficult with you, Dad?”

Waverly motions to stand beside her, closer, to reach out and grab the older woman’s hand and remind her _it’s okay, it’s okay._ Instead, the omega keeps to herself and waits patiently for someone, anyone, to make the next move. And to her immense displeasure and surprise, Victor, Nicole’s own father, takes great joy in his daughter being caught off guard—pushed into a corner with no exit for her to run for.

“Dad? Oh that’s rich, I haven’t heard you call me that since you were locked up.”

Everything slows to a stop, punctuated solely by Jeremy’s audible gasp.

Nicole’s eyes widen in shock, head rearing back as though she had just been slapped. Immediately, Waverly snatches her hand back from Victor’s arm.

She takes a step back and simply stares. Stares at the two alphas before her, the amount of tension burning between them hangs heavily in the air. Thick and unrelenting, swallowing everything in its wake like a hungry black hole eager to destroy everything in its path. To the side, Jeremy looks shell-shocked. He looks as though he wants the earth to open up and swallow him up.

Nicole is no better.

If anything, she’s worse.

“Oops!” He says in fake surprise, going as far as to cover his mouth with his hand. He then turns to Waverly, “You didn’t know, did you?”

Waverly shifts her gaze from him to Nicole and furrows her brows.

“W-What is he talking about?”

For once, Nicole flits her eyes towards her but doesn’t hold it. Looking away instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late and I forgot what I was going to put in the author's note.


	12. Chapter 12

Waverly didn’t listen to Jeremy. Sitting on the loveseat upholstered in an elegant black bonded leather featuring a padded back and angled arms, meant to draw immediate attention with its unique contemporary design, the omega patiently waits in the ever-expansive living room of Nicole’s mansion; occasionally swirling the untouched glass of red wine placed precariously into her hand.

Said auburn-haired alpha had remained rigidly quiet, having brought a glass of Chateau Petrus Pomerol from the wine cellar and serving it without so much as a single word before disappearing up the stairs. It has been close to fifteen minutes since they arrived, and Waverly is starting to fidget in her seat. There’s only so many times a person can casually swirl and take a sip from their glass before it becomes predictable and boring. Before the full-bodied taste of concentrated blackberries is no longer flavorful and leaves a near tar-like substance on her tongue, bitter and repugnant. Before she unlocks her phone and throws herself into a mind-numbing stupor of scrolling through the internet, monotonously swiping the pad of her thumb up and down the screen until every single line of text, image and or audio, blurs into one amorphous blob and she goes blind.

Each second that ticks away only furthers the prickling sensation running up and down her spine in maddening succession. Like a masochist, she takes another sip. Scrunching up her nose in absolute revulsion. The damning taste is thick and syrupy down her throat, every fiber of her being that makes the omega a bonafide hard drinking Earp cries out for the harshness of bourbon, the scorching heat of a shot of whiskey.

And true to her ancestry, Waverly would certainly prefer to burn out the back wall of her throat than to continue damaging the bristles of her tongue. But, despite her appearance and the fact that her surname is practically synonymous with liver poisoning, she doesn’t stop.

Earps are no quitters.

Grandpa Edwin once drank three forty ounces of fire whiskey and still managed to up earth the homestead’s front porch from scratch, coughing up of fireballs and spitting embers like a dragon. And her great-granddaddy, Wyatt, drank an entire bar under the table, rounded seven criminals in three hours and had enough time left in the night to build a fence around their land. Sure, every descendant that followed inherited the same devil may care attitude only seen in the most hardened of beer-swilling individuals—for some reason or another, Wynonna and Willa are trying their hardest to replicate—there is still a deep-rooted sense of good values embedded into their bones. A strong work ethic, loyalty, and a never say die attitude that has led to more arrests than is legally possible.

Waverly ought to blame her family for this. Anyone in their right mind would have turned the other cheek and cast a blind eye over everything that had transpired; why would she care about anything beyond fulfilling her end of the contract and getting paid for it? It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, something that would have her, years from now, looking back and wondering if it was all just a feverish hallucination waiting for her to come down from the high. Or a long comatose dream and all she needs to do is wake up for it be over.

She takes another sip, finishing the glass and leaning forward to refill it. The bottle and its shiny red foil still hanging around the neck is too real to be fake.

The soft leather of the loveseat underneath is too real, the engraving of the Haught Family’s royal coat of arms into the wall above the fireplace is too real for this to just be an elaborate fantasy.

Her concern for Nicole is just too damn—

_“Meow.”_

Setting the bottle, worth upwards of three-thousand dollars, gently back down on the coffee table, Waverly looks up to see a small orange and black thing peeking around the corner of the sofa.

It has ears and big green eyes and the brunette almost didn’t recognize it, until it moves a tiny bit forward to reveal itself. Calamity Jane stares at her curiously, those usually sharp and intense green eyes are now undemanding. Lax. Fearful. For a furry beast that once took egregious pride in holding Waverly’s attention hostage, is nothing more than a timid kitten.

The shy toyger inches closer tentatively, a paw kept in midair when she stops and tilts her head to the side. Ears rotating at the sound of something Waverly obviously can’t hear. She knows it isn’t normal for CJ to do a complete 180 and suddenly be afraid of the brunette on her own. Body close to the wood finished floor, resembling an insignificant speck—a far cry from the striped animal that stole her bracelet without so much as a care in the world.

Waverly sighs and pats the space next to her thigh.

At this, CJ’s ears perk up high into the air before springing forward and hopping onto the couch. The cat lays down, resting its chin on the omega’s lap. Immediately, Waverly runs her nails through the CJ’s fur to remind the cat that she shouldn’t be afraid of her.

She figured that this would be enough. But then she hears a strange whimpering sound, upon closer inspection she realizes that it's coming from Calamity Jane **.** An endless stuttering whimper that is halfway towards a sob. But the cat is stone cold in her grief, expressionless and quiet. Yet, the tears that brim at the corner of those emerald green eyes say a thousand words and Waverly instinctively picks up the toyger into her arms where it curls against her chest. Head hiding in the crook of Waverly’s neck, and if the brunette wasn’t so set on comforting the distressed cat, she’d make a crack at how CJ will need to cut back on her food. Nevertheless, she keeps quiet and rocks Calamity Jane in her arms until she’s sure the cat is close to falling asleep.

Waverly can only guess that the reason as to why CJ is so uncharacteristically upset is because she sensed their anguish. She wonders if there was ever another time where CJ did this, curl up in Shae’s arms for comfort whenever Nicole was off being… confusing. Or if she ever hissed at Victor whenever he showed up to the mansion looking to cause trouble. Nevertheless, she holds the cat close.

It’s been thirty-five minutes since they arrived and Waverly wonders if Nicole will ever come back down.

The drive back to Remus Pointe had been suffocatingly quiet. From when Jeremy bid them a quick goodbye to escape the impending fallout and they hastily drove off in the Lamborghini, to when they unfortunately had to pull up behind a horrid army green colored Bugatti Chiron at the security checkpoint by the gates, to the entire ride on the highway. Eyes flitting between fiddling with her fingers in her lap, to the dark tinted windows where she traces the peaks of the passing evergreens and the faraway mountain tops in the horizon.

Her omega, stricken with the incessant need to tend to the alpha five inches away from her. Nudging the side of her knee, nipping at the skin of her calf and pulling the hem of her dress.

The alpha tensely tapping her fingers against the carbon fiber steering wheel, alternating between punching out a rhythm and clutching the wheel in an iron grip until her knuckles burned white-hot. For a moment, Waverly intended to reach out and talk to Nicole. Appeal to her with soft words and inane chit chat about things like ‘how did the meeting go?’, ‘Jeremy told me a funny story about you guys,’ to ‘today was a nice day.’ She isn’t above making small talk about the goddamn weather for fuck’s sake. Anything really. She just wants to get to the bottom of this.

Before she loses her nerve and regrets everything.

The Pomerol is full of rich berries, smokiness and a hint of spice for that extra kick to tickle the back of her throat with every sip—resulting in an acidic, tar-like substance sticking to the walls of her esophagus until comes a time where she’ll no longer be able to breathe. Ears ringing with the constant _tap tap tap_ of Nicole’s fingers on the steering wheel and the cold clicks of her heels on the cobblestone driveway as the alpha hastily makes her way towards the front door.

Waverly doesn’t know what she should be expecting and no matter what close assumptions she can make or far-fetched ideas she hatches in the back of her mind, the brunette is _still_ coasting along a lose-lose trajectory that will only continue spiraling downward. Her omega rests at her feet, paws tucked beneath its chin, in absolute silence. Perking up, tail wagging happily when Nicole suddenly reappears.

There isn’t much of a change in the alpha’s demeanor since they arrived, stoic and silent, refusing to give away anything that remotely resembles an emotion. Instead, she stands over the coffee table and places the orange pill bottles Waverly remembers from the back of the medicine cabinet during ten minutes of sleuthing. The white labels, each one, facing the brunette directly. Nicole takes in one of the loveseats, runs a hand through her hair, clearly upset despite trying very hard not to show it.

“The two bottles on the left are lithium and carbamazepine; mood stabilizers, and the other three are olanzapine quetiapine and risperidone; atypical antipsychotics—I am to take one of each, every single day, for the rest of my life.” Nicole leans back, fingers tapping against the leather of the armrests. “But you already knew that, didn’t you Waverly?”

She narrows her eyes, a brow quirking up in question. “H-How did you—”

“You forget: I’m not only an alpha, I’m a purebred; to save you any of the asinine vitriol that my grandfather would have happily killed to hear me say, _biologically_ I am built to be as close to peak human conditioning as possible. As such, I smelled your scent in my room and in the bathroom.”

Waverly puts Calamity Jane down on the couch beside her.

“So, to start, you can’t high road me on this even if though you have every right to.”

She nods her head.

Nicole rolls her shoulders back and clears her throat, fingers still tapping against the armrest. A probable tick serving as a coping mechanism, Waverly thinks. “Well, I guess the only way to start this is, what do you know of sanguinism?”

“Not much,” Waverly says, searching her mind several years back to her ninth-grade biology class, and to her physiology course from her second semester. “Just that it’s a genetic disorder.”

“It’s an _inherited_ genetic disorder exclusive to purebreds.” Nicole reaches forward to pour herself a glass before starting, “For the human race to survive, for society to be normal, the gene pool needs to be diversified. Otherwise, we’d all be sick invalids with a whole host of disorders and diseases.”

“The basics of evolutionary biology.”

“Unlike inbreeding, which leads to offspring with genetic disabilities because the genes inherited from both parents are the same, selective breeding ensures that the desirable traits are not only inherited but fortified without complication.”

Waverly tilts her head to the side, catching on. “So, genetically, a child born from two people of the same breed is much more favorable than if they were born mixed?”

Nicole nods. “It’s an idea that has built, decimated and empowered royal families for centuries, Waverly. Especially in regard to bloodlines and heirs. History is rife with crowns changing hands because a monarch couldn’t produce a healthy alpha heir.”

“Unlike yours, fortunately.”

“The Haughts, and a few others, took selective breeding seriously. Making sure the kings and queens of France were married off to an alpha of almost-equal stature, by god they had it down to a science; which shows through seven hundred years of good documentation.” The older woman takes a rather large sip of Pomerol and makes a face, all this talk of royalty is far from being her favorite discussion. “And while it’s great that a piece of history from the pre-modern era can be traced back cleanly and accurately, no one ever thinks of the repercussions that follow.”

“And sanguinism is one of them?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Sanguinism, as far as I’m concerned, is the only one.”

Waverly stops petting CJ’s head. Nicole continues, “Seven hundred years of good, and crystal clear documentation does more than serve as evidence to legitimize my claim to the French throne; after so many years of selectively breeding—at first, for children with heightened desirable traits to rule a country, and then, simply because bigotry took hold with bullshit ideas of superiority—everything that separates alphas, separates me from everyone else, is heightened tenfold.”

“So, you’re stronger, faster, and have stronger senses than the majority of the population,” The brunette says. “You’re like a regular Captain America.”

A small smile graces the alpha’s lips before disappearing beneath the shadow of her hand running through her hair.

“The blood test of a normal human being will show that they are close to bearing an even split among the three breeds. A diversified genetic fingerprint.”

“But as an alpha purebred, yours would lean heavily on the alpha side than the average person,” Waverly adds, doing the math in her head, yet still wanting to hear it. “How much?”

“Eighty percent.”

She widens her eyes in shock. “T-That’s not—”

“Natural? Believe me, nothing about this,” Nicole’s eyes shift and are suddenly a bright red, “is natural.” She raises a hand and her nails have lengthened into claws, “There are some evolutionary theories that suggest we evolved, not from apes, but from _wolves_ , and that humanity will eventually evolve into werewolves.”

“If you look at Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the creation story is basically the same: Adam and Eve, made from the earth with no identification, birthed three sets of twins; male and female, the first were a pair of alphas, followed by a pair of betas, before ending with a pair of omegas.”

“Don’t forget the fringe groups that worship the moon and believe that the idea of humans having breeds is a modern, socialist invention meant to divide the race. That it doesn’t exist.”

“Or the whack jobs claiming that the classification of alphas, betas and omega, aren’t based in scientific fact, but in the idea we live in a world ruled by a class-system based on biology and an omega can simply become an alpha by rising through the ranks.”

“No matter how you spin it, everything sounds crazy.” Nicole scratches the back of her head, “Sanguinism, is basically the nicest term a person can use to describe a ticking time bomb; while the symptoms varies depending on the breed of the afflicted—extreme depression in omegas, delusional paranoia in betas, and dangerous aggression in alphas—it is a continual downward spiral.”

Waverly stands abruptly, and Calamity Jane, with a questioning glance shoots up in turn. The brunette, if she could read minds, could hear the cat saying _are you going to leave?_ Those big green eyes marred with unease.

But to CJ’s delight and both Nicole and Waverly’s own surprise, she stays. Walking around the couch until she stands behind it and rests her weight against it. She stares at her phone in question, trying to rifle through the various sections of her memory for everything and anything that could aid the discussion. To the times she spent sitting behind a desk with a spiral notebook taking notes from a smartboard during her science courses, the few times she went out of her comfort zone and watched documentaries on life, and the number of case studies she read up on during that one time she begrudgingly enrolled herself into that bare boned Psychology 101 class.

She knows next nothing about the specifics of this disorder besides remembering the passage she read in an old textbook dating back to the early fifties that describes it as ‘a relatively new disorder’. Still in its infancy at the time, and without sufficient research or funding, (and a severe lack of suitable patients fitting the criteria) the disorder and those who were at the forefront of its discovery were forced into spending the next twenty years undergoing rewrites, changes and complete omissions until 1971 when the American Psychiatric Association finally accepted it.

There’s more information on sociopathy and psychopathy, and even that is still a heavily debated topic.

“Okay, sanguinism is a disorder that only afflicts purebreds, essentially people with a blood purity of over seventy percent for either of the three breeds. An extremely rare occurrence that would require several generations of a family strictly sticking with the ‘keep it within the breed’ ideology.”

Nicole nods her head, suddenly falling behind Waverly’s lightning fast thinking.

“Alphas are known, stereotypically, to be far more aggressive and powerful than a beta or an omega; and with everything that you’ve told me, the pills aren’t to keep you under control, but to keep you from getting worse.” The brunette finds herself wavering, doused with a cold realization, she stares at Nicole intently. Eyes still red. “Jeremy said Perry lost his tattoo in a wolf attack up in the mountains, but you said he lost it in a car accident.”

The alpha crosses her legs over the other. “So, which is it, Nicole? Or better yet, neither story is true and something else happened to him. And you know it.”

“Can’t get anything past you, apparently.” Nicole swirls her glass. “Chrissy said you were valedictorian of your high school class, Jeremy looked over your grades and was pleased to report that you’re expected to graduate at the top of your class again.”

Nicole keeps talking: “Of course, I should have taken measures with making sure everyone around me kept to the same story, but I didn’t think it would matter.”

Three days ago, she would have never expected this. Sitting here, listening and learning, essentially understanding Nicole’s position in this perfect mess of a world. The role she plays in everything. Most of all the long-held secret their family has kept close to themselves from the public eye. And now, she, an outsider, is privy it all.

“It’s my fault, really, but you continue to surprise me at every turn.”

“What happened to Perry, Nicole?” Waverly asks. “What happened to him?”

The older woman sighs, fingers back on the armrest and tapping against the bonded leather in quick rhythmical succession. _Tap tap tap._

“I can only tell you what _I_ know, there are… some black spots in my memory. I’ve tried multiple times to remember all the details, but they still escape me.”

Nicole licks her lips tentatively.

“This isn’t how I wanted today to go,” the auburn-haired alpha is stalling, “fucking hell, I had plans for us. The country club, dinner—”

_“Nicole.”_

“Alright, alright.”

 

 

The story starts and end the same way: an abrupt changing of scenes with no warning or foreshadowing. Nicole remembers being twenty-three, the weatherman on channel ten had reported the next several days to sit at a sunny eighty-degree temperature with not a cloudless sky and a nice breeze. The kind of day meant to be spent outside, filling your lungs with the fresh air and bathing in the warm sunlight. But instead, the alpha had preferred to stay inside for the next five days. Shae had been contacted by her mother to be a guest lecturer at the University of Toronto for a few days on some of the progress she’s been making with her practice and the advancements made within the medical community. It had been a while since the beta had seen her parents and Nicole certainly encouraged her to take the time off to be with them.

“Send Baron and Brigitte my love,” she had told Shae before Dolls came around to take her to the airport.

Shae smiled back before being driven down the road and out of sight. Nicole retires to the mansion, keen on taking care of her impending rut. Leaning back comfortably against the back of her computer chair, unbuckling her belt, pulling her jeans down until she’s freed herself, a video loaded up on screen waiting for her to press play.

For the first few hours, everything proceeds as normal—not a single thing out place that would have indicated anything being amiss—she masturbated, did some work with Jeremy over the phone, and lastly invited Perry over for drinks. Apparently, there was a Chateau Haut Brion Blanc Pessac bottle just waiting for them to open after close to a century of being on the shelf. Nicole had brought the one-thousand-dollar white peace and tangerine flavored, full-bodied wine from the cellar to the kitchen table; that’s all she remembers before reaching the first black spot in her memory.

From there, the details of what happened next is a little fuzzy. Like a strobe light, she had fallen in and out of consciousness, retaining only the bare minimum even after all this time. Things that still, to this day, don’t add up despite knowing the full extent of what happened.

Broken glass, the metallic taste of blood on her tongue, followed by the feeling of leather wrapped tightly around her limbs and sharp sting of something piercing her skin. It’s only a week later, waking up to the intense fluorescent light burning her retinas that her memory picks up again. But she isn’t home. Instead, she’s on a hospital bed, strapped down with heavy belts wrapped around her waist, chest, arms and legs; the only freedom given to her is the ability to move her head and neck from side to side. The walls are painted in a pleasing cream-colored shade of beige matched perfectly by white moldings that give a non-immediate pop to the senses. The floor itself is made of tiles with a dark wooden finish meant to resemble oak or mahogany, the room is marked with an upholstered dark brown faux leather with a great amount of foam padding, a loveseat sitting two people atop of chrome legs. Accompanied by a beautifully crafted cocktail table made from solid wood with a warm pomegranate finish boasting a cathedral cherry and avodire veneer, complemented by an intricately done herringbone inlay and classically-influenced embellishments. Craning her neck, Nicole can see the bathroom from the space lent by the door being slightly ajar, there’s a shower, but no curtains and the sink is just a marble bowl with faucets, propped upon a thick pipe coming out of the floor. The only mirror to account for is outside and in full view of the partition that separates the room and the hallway of passerby doctors in their white coats.

There’s a sliding door on the other side of the room leading to a balcony where figure stands against the railing. Nicole struggles with her restraints until they rattle loudly, drawing the figure’s attention. In comes a woman with short, shoulder-length blonde hair and dark blue eyes, a look of worry permanently etched into her features.

“Mom? _Mom!”_ Nicole continues to struggle with the restraints, but Isabelle Haught, calms her down.

“Shh, baby, calm down and stop pulling or you’ll break them again.” The older alpha strokes her hair. “I don’t want to see the orderlies sedate you again.”

“Where’s Shae?”

“She’s outside speaking with the doctor.”

Nicole is kept this way for hours, forced to stare at the ceiling and rest her neck before the belts holding her down to the bed are removed in a bid to get her to eat. But nothing works, Shae pulls up a chair beside the bed and stays there until it gets dark and has to be convinced, after thirty minutes of arguing with her mother-in-law, to go home and rest. Tomorrow’s another day and staying at Nicole’s side will only prove to hinder the alpha’s recovery.

In the meantime, Victor stays in her place, alternating between texting on his phone, drinking water from the bathroom faucet, and recounting all different memories of their past. Always starting his trip down memory lane with, ‘do remember that time…’ or ‘remember when we…’ Stories of her as a happy and curious child, of her as a rowdy teenager who refused to listen to the rules, the adult who redeemed herself all of that teenaged angst and tomfoolery that drove her parents up a wall by growing up—everything before this week.

And as such, tomorrow comes and goes quickly with the alpha drifting in and out of consciousness. The blackspots marring her memory grow roots, entangling and knotting themselves into place, even across the few moments of clarity she’s able to save. The door to her room is a never-ending revolving door of bodies filing in and out, doctors in long lab coats strolling in to ask her questions, orderlies handing tiny plastic cups with colorful pills at the bottom, and on a few occasions, she’s seen the janitor mop the floor while listening to music. While Nicole is quietly getting acquainted with the staff—to the point where she knows everyone on the floor by name and the ones who routinely escort her to the on-site psychiatrist, by first names, interest and even a few details of their family life—she’s visited daily by Shae and Victor.

As luxurious as the treatment center is, there’s no clock in the room. There’s nothing to indicate a passage of time save for the different outfits worn each day by her visitors.

Then it’s back with the asinine chatter she’s heard before. Every day. Shae holding her hand and keeping her up to date with as much information as possible, although the details of her release are suspiciously absent from the conversation. Jeremy comes by and is quick to recount everything that has happened in her absence at work; the more scandalous tales being the first he shares. Her parents come by as well, dutifully asking questions and speaking to each other in French whenever they want to make a sly comment but would rather not have the object of their disparaging remarks be aware of it. Usually choosing the doctors and nurses as their targets, their lack of competence is always an aspect they attack with fervor.

But there’s one person she hasn’t seen in a while…

Like before, Victor stays during the nights, although Nicole barely registers the man’s presence half the time. Tuning him out whenever he opens his mouth and starts to talk about work, politics, he spent two days trying to give relationship advice and Nicole sent him home within the hour of his visitation. Now, he sits at the desk in the middle of the room with the DSM-5 splayed open in his hands, flipping through the pages.

“Narcissistic Personality Disorder,” he reads before picking up his head, smiling, “okay, now _this_ I could have.”

Nicole makes a face.

“Oh, come on, it was just a joke.”

She rolls her eyes. “Where’s Perry, Dad?”

At this, Victor’s face pales. “He’s uh, he’s recovering… he suffered two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, a dislocated shoulder and a substantial amount of blood loss.”

“Did I…?”

“Yes sweetheart, but it’s okay! Perry doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. He forgives you!”

But the words fall on deaf ears. Immediately, Nicole pulls at the machines hooked up to her skin, monitoring her heartbeat and blood pressure levels among other things the alpha could care less about. Victor, to his credit tries to calm her down but without that magical touch, that gentle bedside manner like Isabelle had shown before, he’s unable to keep Nicole from shooting out of bed and marching towards the front door. He’s yelling, they’re both yelling, barking at each other until a group of orderlies and several of the overnight doctors come rushing in trying to pull them apart. One even comes in with a syringe with some clear liquid inside, ready, and from beneath the hold of the guards, Victor is trying to talk some sense into them. Reminding them that his daughter is still coherent and sedating her wouldn’t be necessary.

Eventually the room clears, and Nicole is back on the bed instead of the floor, the threat of sedation hanging thickly in the air. They settle back into the quiet, although Nicole is far more aware and questioning of her surroundings now. Clearing his throat, Victor tries for small talk again.

“I tried calling Charlize, but you know how it is with your sister,” Nicole makes a face. “But! I got a hold of Alexei and he said he’ll come by the mansion after he picks up Evan, okay?”

“Why am I here, Dad?” She starts.

He sighs, a deep aggrieved moan. “Cole… do you remember that day, when we went to visit your grandfather in Nova Scotia? Do you remember why he was there?”

It takes a moment for Nicole to think back and remember, seventeen years old and watching the trees and passing foliage melt into one continuous green blur marred only by the breaks in the vegetation, until finally arriving at a large colonial house just outside of Lawrencetown. A large sign sits on the curb reading the words ‘Ledgehill Treatment and Recovery Centre’.

Pulling forwards towards the present, Nicole shakes her head in disbelief before it falls into her hands. She then runs them through her hair, pulling away instantly with a wince when she feels the harsh, and still tender, indentations of what were claw marks embedded into her scalp. Staring at her nails in a heady mix of confusion and shock, a perfect fit against the sharp grooves lining down the length of her skull.

“Good news is, the doctor says that since we caught wind of this early, we’ll be better prepared.”

He raises his plastic cup in cheer to the younger alpha. “Are you fucking kidding me? No, t-this is bullshit. Why me? I’m a good person, a good fucking person? Why should I have to suffer? Charlize is an alpha too, she turns twenty-one, is given complete access to her inheritance and runs off to god knows where on the other end of the world, not giving a flying fuck that she’s made all of us sick with worry—but I’m the one stuck with the inevitability of turning into Silas.”

“Nicole, you know that’s not true.”

“Do I? Do you? Sangunism doesn’t have a cure, just plans and treatment aimed for preventing an even bigger catastrophe! You put grandpa in Ledgehill because he tried to bite someone’s ear off! And judging from how the centre was watching him far more closely than any of the other patients, I’m pretty sure he succeeded.”

“Christ, your grandfather did not bite anyone’s ear off, okay? He—”

“What, Dad?” Nicole cuts in. “Only bit off a piece? Just a little off the tip, is that it?” She laughs, “After all these years old man, you’re still trying to keep up this idea that we’re just a normal fucking family. Fuck off.”

“I know you’re upset, and you have every right to be, but right now we need to think about recovery.”

“Fuck you.”

Victor lets out a frustrated sigh, crushing the plastic cup in his hand. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I actually want what’s best for you?”

“Because everything you’ve ever done for me was solely to fast track me to CEO. Get me to grow up as quickly as possible so I’d take over the company as soon as I was legally able to.”

“I was thinking of your future, Cole. That’s not fair.”

“I’m right where you always wanted me to be. Making all the money you didn’t at my age, running Cerberus Enterprises into a new era, we’ve dipped into almost every market imaginable, and what’s there to show for it? I’m in a psychiatric hospital, I’m under constant threat by one of these trigger-happy orderlies looking to fit me into a straitjacket or sedate me—I just want to go home to my wife, but I’m being kept here as a prisoner!”

“Step out of your head for second and realize _why_ you’re here; you blacked out and, not only made a mess of the mansion, but tried to kill yourself and your friend.” He reasons. Exasperated, within seconds he’s already aged several years.

Nicole crosses her arms over her chest and turns over in bed, back towards her father.

 

 

Waverly is stunned silent. The wine glass in her hands long forgotten, as is her cell phone lighting up with three unread text messages. As is Calamity Jane, the striped cat curled up into a ball at the corner of the couch, head laying on the armrest but still attentively staring at the omega. Nicole, on the other hand, her red eyes shift back to their natural honey-golden color, is fixated on the brunette. Searching for an answer as a means to prepare herself for what is to come next.

She takes a deep breath. Holding it, thinking that maybe if she held it long enough, the burning of her lungs and the voice inside her head screaming for her to exhale would give her an answer. Which may be the one she wants. Or the one she needs. Either way, it’s something to point her in the right direction and make the decision that will come to define the next course of action to take in regard to this contract. Each day that passes there something new, something that makes what was supposed to be a simple business arrangement far more complex and convoluted than what she signed up for.

“Why don’t you just take the pills and be done with it?”

“I tried to kill myself while I was blacked out, two of the pills can result in suicidal ideation. There isn’t much of a difference, not to mention I’d be plagued with other symptoms that will impede me from functioning properly.”

“And you think doing nothing is the best course of action?”

“It’s like cancer—”

Waverly interrupts, “There is literally no proof of that.”

But Nicole isn’t deterred. “—there’s no cure as of now, but I can still beat it. Just takes willpower and discipline.”

“Have you ever blacked out in the same way since?”

“No, and it will never happen again. I promise.”

“Jesus, you can’t promise something you’re not even sure you’ll be able to keep.” Waverly says, shooing away her omega from her side. The poor thing nudging its snout against her knee.

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

 _Jesus._ “Do you know how much you’re risking, putting someone in the line of fire like this?”

She can’t change Nicole’s mind. They could sit here for hours on end arguing over the merits of whether the alpha is blindly refusing to accept or believe that this is a disease that can’t be cured. Can’t be beaten. She can’t go into remission, complete or partial, and continue to live her life symptom free despite still having traces of it lingering inside her body. With the lack of academic and scientific research, at most, sanguinism is on par with something like dementia. Sure, there are preventative measures, but time will pass, and the affliction will only worsen.

“Look, it may not be the best thing in the world but I’m trying okay?” Nicole reasons, “I’m trying to give back, do something good.”

“The world won’t reward you for intentionally doing right by others just for your own selfish gain. Karma doesn’t work that way.”

She’s too stubborn.

They’ve reached a stalemate and Waverly sighs. “I-I don’t know what to do, Nicole. I really don’t.”

“Don’t leave.” The alpha starts, eyes soft and pleading. “We can finish the week, complete the contract, I’ll stay honest from here on out… Just don’t leave.” _Me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _OH SHIT! DID I JUST POST A NEW CHAPTER WITHIN 10 DAYS?_   
>  _THAT'S CRAZY, MAN!_
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, real quick: sanguinism is not real a disease, just an amalgamation of a whole bunch of different stuff I researched that I felt would make sense to have in an ABO universe based closely to reality. As is the entire aspect of purebreds, blood purity, and stuff like that.
> 
>  **EDIT:** Day 3 is over, two days left on the contract!


	13. Chapter 13

She was expected to give a response, one that would be the deciding factor in all this. But even as a wave of heat rolls up her neck and beads of sweat broke out against her forehead, she was still deadlocked between a rock and a hard place. No matter how many times she dared to hold her breath and force her body to come up with a decision for her, lest her lungs explode, she had nothing. It would have been so easy to just walk out of the mansion, and not look back. To risk being rooted to the ground by her own tormenting emotions, flagging her down should she run _. What do you say?_ Waverly sighs, running a hand through her hair before her head falls into them. Worried. Upset. It’s almost as if every time she looks to the surface, for some unexplainable reason, she continues to get farther and farther away from it. Not only does she need an answer, but it needs to be the right one.

One that wouldn’t be as taxing as everything has become as of late. She felt a wave of heat roll up her neck, and beads of sweat breaking out on her nose. To think that she was actually able to afford the opportunity to pull herself together. Instead, much like everything else that has been thrown her way, she bites her tongue and bears with the inevitable crash.

During times like these, when she’s laying flat on her back and staring helplessly at the ceiling in abject want, she thinks back to the past for guidance. Something she unfortunately has the habit of doing frequently.

Her memories aren’t filled with colorful moments, there’s never anything so inherently powerful about them, but they’re hers and for that they are wonderful in sheer essence alone. As such, it’s easy to fall backwards, suddenly overcome with emotion, before settling in place and letting the memories play before her eyes.

Waverly will be the first to admit that she isn’t as sporty as the four years of being cheerleading captain would suggest. Compared to the rest of her family, she isn’t one for contact sports like football, hockey and soccer. There is something inherently aggressive and brutal about those sports that have never sat well with her, despite being a spectator. Every year, Gust and Curtis throw a giant party at Shorty’s for whatever big sporting event at the moment, complete with beer kegs several feet tall, endless trays of buffalo wings, and enough blue cheese dressing to drown an entire village in; and every year, without fail, Waverly finds herself swept away by the pageantry.

Dressing up and painting her face in the Wynonna’s preferred team out of solidarity to her older sister; finding it cute that despite being in her mid-twenties, Wynonna still enjoyed these events like the child she was. With mustard-smeared cheers, petulant whines whenever her team “plays no defense”, and that worn out Calgary Flames No.9 Lanny McDonald jersey that begs to be burned and put out of its misery, Wynonna Earp is like a kid at the candy store. A dark haired, leather jacket wearing, combat boot toting, wannabe gunslinging badass, letting her inner child come out and cheer whenever a football or soccer player she doesn’t like gets tackled roughly to the ground. Whenever they watch the Stanley Cup and a fight breaks out on the ice and both teams are rushing at each other with fists raised looking to clock someone over the head. To make matters worse, they never had to wait too long to throw a party during the hockey season: for decades now, the rivalry between the Calgary Flames and the Edmonton Oilers have grown into a once a year spectacular, the grudge match being aptly named the “Battle of Alberta.”

An intense rivalry between the two cities that predates organized sports in the region, which explains why Wynonna and Ward, take immense pleasure out of beating any team hailing from the capital. Which is why Waverly had taken it upon herself to ask Wynonna during intermission, after a particularly brutal first period, why everyone took this rivalry so seriously? What the appeal was. To which the alpha replies with a half-assed smirk, slurring every single word out of her mouth: “Because we, babygirl, are human! And humans…enjoy messes, we like train wrecks! And this fucking team is going to turn into one if they don’t sub out that dumbass goalie!”

“Don’t listen to your sister Waverly,” Gus says after overhearing the alpha’s less than tactful explanation. “Not everybody is like that, trust me.”

Wynonna snorts, “Trust _me!_ If no one on this blue planet enjoys drama and fights, then why, oh why, do we have a TV? Internet? It is in our nature to always slow down and look at the car crash when going down the freeway, instead of immediately driving away.”

For all the nonsensical babbling Wynonna likes to do when feeling inspirational, and completely drunk, she does come up with a gem or two. And she’s completely right.

Anyone in Waverly’s position would have left as soon as the first sign was made. After witnessing everything and being told something that _undeniably_ needed to be known and addressed the second the brunette stepped into the mansion with her duffel bag, a normal person would have run for the hills and never looked back. The money be damned. Maybe, right when she stood in the foyer, in that small bit of hallway in front of the living room, in front of the staircase and two second sprint from the door, the money was too tempting to give up. Maybe the prospect of being financially free, like Chrissy, is within reach and she’d be a fool not to close the distance. Or maybe the promise of being financially secure doesn’t matter anymore, the contract has become a literal piece of paper instead of an unremovable weight bearing down on her shoulders, and the only thing that does make any lick of sense, is Nicole. Jesus, Nicole…

It’s a very difficult thing in which to be a caring person, a genuine, empathetic person, instead of being a collection of hard, cynical traits roughened by circumstance and life. A person who truly feels something, something otherworldly, perhaps? Or dare she say it, magical.

And yet, at the same time, it’s almost as if nothing matters, as though she isn’t a real person and emotions hold no bearing whatsoever. Nothing is tethered to the ground for her to feel stable. Safe.

The bedroom door opens and instead of there being a body on the other side, it’s just a slinky, needy black and orange little beast. Waverly rolls her eyes and smiles. Sitting up, the brunette crosses her legs and pats the space in front of her. CJ hops onto the bed and makes herself home, rolling onto her back for a belly rub. It’s cute. She’s going to miss CJ at the end of the week.

“Hey cutie,” Waverly greets, scratching at the soft fur beneath the cat’s chin. “Slept well?”

The cat purrs, paws in the air to play with the omega’s hands. Tail wagging happily behind he and Waverly smiles, running her fingers through the toyger’s soft fur. Such a sweet little thing, Waverly admittedly feels guilty for playing a role in CJ’s distress yesterday.

“Shame I can’t take you home with me,” She says, scratching at that small space behind CJ’s left ear.

Calamity Jane’s bright green eyes go wide, looking hopeful for a moment before realization glazes over them. Resulting in the cat moving to curl up next to the brunette’s leg. She wonders how things would change once her reason for being is over.

After letting the cat have her moment beside her, napping soundly, Waverly gets out of bed to begin the day. Showering, getting dressed, and brushing her hair in front of the mirror hanging over the dresser.

Heading down the staircase she motions towards the kitchen, it being one of the last few rooms that remains unsullied by being associated with any unpleasant memory. The playroom is slowly falling into this category as well, solely from the revelation of how purposeful it was that she was always meant to be kept in the dark. Until Victor showed her the light—so to speak.

Yet, as she takes the last step and has a hand against the corner of the kitchen’s entrance, she’s pulled in the opposite direction. Omega nudging, and even abjectly pushing, for her down this hallway she’s never been through. Unlike the one positioned towards the west of the mansion, the playroom’s black doors sitting directly at the end of the corridor like some daunting figure, there’s… something else.

Lead to a thick door made of laminated wood, painted in a dark solid pine finish. Tentatively, she knocks. Because she knows Nicole is in there, she knows her omega wouldn’t have pushed her here if the alpha wasn’t, she just doesn’t know in what state she’ll receive the woman in.

“Come in.”

Waverly opens the door and finds Nicole dressed casually in a simple cashmere pullover and blue jeans, behind a large double pedestal desk built with hardwood and veneers, painted in a burnish brown finish with detailed texture and depth. The kind of desk only executives and powerful impact players would own. Working dutifully in front of a laptop with her cellphone nestled into the crook of her neck.

In a different life, an alternate universe where walking into the alpha’s office would be something natural, even more so than what is currently. A universe where their worlds were one in the same, the line in the sand separating them isn’t fortified by all these outside circumstances meant to keep them on two starkly different levels. Where the dividing line between them, is themselves.

“Yeah, uh huh, I know, this isn’t the most ideal situation but—no? Nothing at all? It’s a last-minute thing I understand, but—” Nicole sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Okay, okay, thank you.”

“Is everything okay, Nicole?” Waverly asks.

“I have an art exhibition tomorrow night, but,” Nicole sighs, “that might end up getting put on hold because I have a few pieces I want to put out but the model I’m using as my subject can’t come today to finish because she has prior engagements.”

“It was Stephanie, wasn’t it?”

“I should have seen this coming, but I hoped for the best—as a backup, I called up the agency I usually use when I need a model, but they don’t have anyone available in such short notice.”

“Oh, well, would it be so bad if you cancelled? Well, not cancel but postpone it?” Waverly asks, trying to offer a next to satisfactory solution. “I don’t know, but maybe you could do without those few pieces? Keep the show going with what you have already should be enough, right?”

The older woman shrugs. “Probably, but everything’s set in stone.”

Waverly gives a reassuring glance, offering sympathy but she knows it won’t be enough.

And then, by either a stroke of genius or sheer stupidity, an idea is struck and after quietly deliberating in her mind for a few seconds—completely aware of the possibility of being rejected and the slight heartache she’ll feel from it—she says it anyways. “What if I were your model?”

“I-I’m sorry?” Nicole asks. “Do you know what you’re asking me?”

“Yes, and I know I don’t have experience, but I could step in and help. If you want me to.”

“But after everything that happened yesterday, why would you want to help me?” The older woman makes a face, confused. “I pretty much destroyed every bit of trust I built up with you in the last few days.”

“Technically, it was your father who ruined things.”

“I still played a part in it. I’m not innocent.”

Waverly moves forward and plants herself on the alpha’s lap, open and forthcoming, willing to accept everything as is and move forward. To show that she is comfortable in being a part of this contract and fulfilling it to completion. That there is something she can give back, something more than what she’s already given. Despite that nagging voice in the back of her head saying otherwise.

“You said you’d be honest with me from here on out.”

“Absolutely!”

“That’s all I ask for from this contract, no more lies.” She explains. “As for being your new model, I _want_ to do it. I want to help.”

Nicole nods. “Remember, you can back out at any time you want.”

“Will I have to say the safeword, then?” Nicole smiles at the joke, visibly relaxing and becoming pliant underneath Waverly.

“Do you have any reservations about revisiting the playroom?”

The brunette shakes her head. “I do, believe me I do, it’s just… it’ll be different now. I’ll be more aware of everything.”

“Even more nervous than before?”

Waverly sheepishly nods. “With what you told me, yes! And since I can’t force you to take your medicine, I’m worried that something’s going to happen. Something really bad.”

“Nothing bad will happen, okay?” Nicole says sternly, “I may sound like a broken record, but it’s true: I won’t let anything bad happen to you. Even if I truly wanted to hurt you, I couldn’t. There is nothing within me that would ever allow that.”

Waverly softens, genuinely wanting to believe the alpha and every single word coming out of her mouth. But she can’t help the red flags that continue to wave in the dimly lit portions of her mind, half conscious and half subconscious: that tender spot right in between both planes of cognitive existence. The roof of her tongue feels rough, raw, and her omega snorts. As if she could possibly question the alpha’s promise; to have the sheer audacity to do such a thing. Going as far as to nip at her calf, teeth and all. _She won’t hurt you._

Sighing, the brunette accepts her momentary defeat, unable to win against her omega and it’s clear as day bias towards the alpha.

“You know, I still want you to have a good time, here.”

Nicole tentatively wraps a hand around the side of Waverly’s waist, a nervous tremor running through them as if she needs permission to touch her. Be reassured that she _can_ touch the omega, that Waverly won’t break and fall apart. She isn’t as fragile as she used to be.

“Is there a special occasion for the exhibit? Like a benefit, or something.”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders.

“Not most of the time, but sometimes people buy my pieces and when they do I send the proceeds to charity.”

Waverly nods. “Oh okay, how much do your pieces usually sell for? I can imagine that they’d have to be in the thousands.” Nicole makes a face and ushers her to go a little higher. “Hundred thousands?” _Higher._ She can’t be thinking so small when it comes to the wealthy CEO. “Millions?”

“Yeah,” Nicole says nonchalantly. “I mean, that’s what people offer to pay. There have been a few bidding wars in the past, but nothing major.”

“Do you hold exhibits often? Or only whenever you’ve got enough pieces for one?”

“Only whenever I have enough, it’s much easier that way. But with the company I do occasionally host exhibits with work made by others.”

Nicole’s thumb tenderly rubs circles into Waverly’s skin. Slow and soothing.

“No one will know it’s you in the photos, my style doesn’t tend to make use of faces.” The alpha says.

“Are you sure no one will know?” She asks.

Waverly Earp has never been one to be at the center of attention, she can feel her skin crawl at the thought of having everyone’s eyes watching her. Staring at her. Quietly judging her. Attentive to every single action she makes, like hungry predators ready to make her prey at the first mistake. Knowing how particularly savage these rich, upper class schmucks can be, they’d probably be salivating at the mouth for something to sink their teeth into. Forcing her into the spotlight without need, just to ask questions and observe her reactions while under their relentless scrutinizing gazes. Even with Nicole there to provide protection and shield her from them, she doubts it’ll be enough to save her.

“Unless I want them to, yes.” Nicole says, “But that won’t be a problem.”

 

* * *

 

They’re officially day officially starts when they get into the Lamborghini and drive into the city. Beside her, Nicole lets her know that they’re going to one of her favorite restaurants in downtown Calgary. “You’ll love it,” the alpha swears, “they serve the best biscotti in the city.”

She is far more relaxed, as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. By proxy, Waverly is able to finally lean her body all the way back against the carbon fiber seat, letting the slightly plush padding fully meld itself along the contours of her spine. Able to relax and let her shoulders drop and release the tension that had been building into knots at the base of her neck, the relief in letting the wound spring coiled tightly around her body go with a satisfying snap.

Taking in the scenery as they zoom down the highway, the windows opened at a comfortable height—halfway, letting in enough of a breeze to cool but not enough to completely freeze—the smell of pine and the crisp scent of warm, fading summer breeze, on the cusp of an autumn chill. Eyelids softly drooping until her eyes are closed and the continuous vibrations of the sports car rock her to sleep.

When they reach their destination, Waverly is gently shaken awake and with a yawn she opens her eyes. Having jumped the gun, she assumed they’d be going to some fancy restaurant with an entire block of parking spots annexed specifically to serve as valet parking, each spot home to an expensive luxury car worth more the entire homestead and the land it sits on. Instead, the Lamborghini is parked in an open (public) space in front of a large brick and mortar building, its awning is a delicate shade of red with the words ‘Café Luxemborg’ printed on the side.

Getting out of the car—she won’t ever get used to the idea of car doors opening vertically instead of outward, part of her wondering if this specific feature was ever practical—the restaurant isn’t particularly large. At least from the outside. Sandwiched between a high-end apartment building (complete with a doorman and security guard) and another restaurant brandishing a far harsher red color scheme that resembles a firehouse than anything meant to be pleasing and appetizing.

“Careful not to get a little too starstruck,” Nicole grins, “you might notice a few familiar faces in here.”

“What like _celebrities_?” Waverly asks, feeling a little unnerved.

“Uh, sort of?” Nicole shrugs her shoulders as leads the omega inside, “In their field they certainly are. I’m sure you’ve read their works.”

Waverly doesn’t exactly follow, brows furrowing together in confusion until she looks around the café. Definitely a lot larger than what the outside would suggest, walls painted in white, booths a dark brutish red color, the tables themselves are slightly smaller compared to what the brunette is used to at a regular chain restaurant, but the walls are lined with different wines, different whiskeys, different brands of champagne. But the most striking feature of all are the different number of quotes littered along the walls, every square inch is covered in the famous words of a famous literary author. Each section is aptly named after a specific author, from Fitzgerald, to Tolstoy.

“Guess where we’re sitting.” The smugness on the older woman’s face gives it away.

“Shakespeare.”

“Naturally.”

That easygoing smirk on Nicole’s face and the nonchalant shrug of her shoulders has Waverly smiling, a bright blush beginning to color her cheeks as the maître d′ leads grabs a couple of menus and leads them to their table.

A corner booth against the window, thick with padding beneath a red finish, the table itself is covered in a white cloth trimmed with intricate designs along its edges and decorated with a doubled set of utensils (spoons, forks, knives, and napkins folded neatly inside of a twisted wire ring made of gold) while a single rose sits in a glass vase between two plates. Nicole pulls out Waverly’s chair and the brunette accepts with a soft thanks, while Nicole takes the booth. Above her, the wall is fitted with different quotes from a number of his works. Each tile, featuring a quote and a small hand-crafted image pertaining to it.

 _“You are a lover. Borrow Cupid’s wings and soar with them above a common bound.”_ Reads the one directly behind the alpha’s head. She recognizes the quote from Romeo and Juliet; specifically Act 1, Scene 4. But the most striking aspect is the picture of a cherub in the corner, pulling back the string on its bow, the heart shaped arrow fixed in a position that points squarely at Nicole.

Shaking her head, she smiles at the maître d’ who wishes them a good breakfast before handing them the menus and leaving. The menu itself features a laminated photo from 1947, black and white, with three women naked in front of the bar and facing away from the camera; coyly looking over their shoulders. It’s a shock, but nothing devastating than the prices that greet her plebeian self on the first page. It’s relatively early in the morning and one would think, that for breakfast, the prices wouldn’t be so expensive. Honestly, who would pay $8 for Grapefruit Brûlée?

Would she get an entire grapefruit? Or just half? While Nicole is busy looking through her own menu, Waverly sneaks a glance at the table beside them.

All three of questions are answered at once.

Quickly looking back to her menu, she gulps, blinking several times in disbelief at the rest of the items as she continues browsing the breakfast page.

The only thing that is even close to be affordable and worth more than eight dollars for half a damn grapefruit is Steel-Cut Oatmeal; with fresh berries, made with water or milk (per customer’s preference), valued at $11. And to her delight, there’s even an image of beside it: small white bowl with a sprinkle of blueberries, raspberries and almonds on top with a light drizzle of honey—Waverly swears it’s true to size.

“Found anything you want?” Nicole asks from behind her menu, now browsing for the sheer fun of it.

Waverly shakes her head, glancing at the priciest entrée on the list the way a masochist purposely seeks out punishment just to feel the crack of a paddle against their skin. Smoked Salmon Benedict, made with smoked salmon, poached eggs, hollandaise, English muffin and served with herbed-potatoes; valued at an astonishing $20.

Their waiter arrives, a very fair-skinned man with soft eyes and thick dark hair, young and boyish looking and probably still in college. His name tag reads: Robin. “Hi, are you two ready to order yet?”

“Almost, Waverly?”

“Oh uh, no, not yet. B-But you can order for yourself if you want?” The omega says, now zooming across the page prepared to order the cheapest thing to save herself from any further embarrassment. But Nicole cuts in with a bright smile.

“We’ll start off with the Banana Pecan Bread, _two_ of the Smoked Salmon Benedict and a bottle of your finest—do you have Prosecco?”

Robin shakes his head, “I’m sorry, but we still have a deep collection of champagne and sparkling wines.”

“Which is the most expensive?”

The beta burns a pretty pink before having to open the small book serving as the café’s wine list to know. After flipping a few pages, he points to a black and gold bottle covered in bronze foil. “The Gut Hermannsberg Riesling Sekt, seventy-four dollars per bottle.”

Waverly feels a burst of intense surprise, disparaging shock. She thought for a second, she might choke on her own saliva.

“Perfect. Thank you, Robin.” Nicole says, closing her menu and handing it over.

“Thank you, Miss,” The waiter echoes, still slightly startled, “We just finished baking another batch of the pecan bread, it’ll be with you shortly.”

Waverly doesn’t notice when Robin takes the menu from her hands, nor does she notice him take the rest of them.

“I could be allergic to fish.” Waverly starts.

“But you’re not, Jeremy would have made note of that in your medical records.”

“It could be a recent thing.”

“Now who’s lying?” Nicole tilts her head to the side. “C’mon, Waves. I saw you. You tend to go for the cheapest thing just, so you don’t feel like a charity case. Instead of going for what you want.”

The brunette huffs defiantly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap beneath the table.

“Yeah, well, maybe I _like_ the cheap stuff. They’re more affordable.”

“Bullshit.” Nicole bites. “No one likes cheap, they just accept it, given the current circumstances that they’re in.” She softens, “You’re telling me that if you had the money, you wouldn’t fly to London, Rome or New York?”

“Nope. I’d put the money towards something useful, like paying off a bill or a loan.” She lies.

“Uh huh, and I’m five feet tall.”

“What’s wrong with being short?”

Nicole chuckles. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just saying that when the opportunity presents itself, you should reach out and grab it. Even if it’s on the top shelf.”

“Hey!”

 

* * *

 

After two glasses of Riesling Sekt, the arrival of their smoked salmon benedict, which tasted as divine as it was beautifully presented, and an order of profiteroles for dessert—a cream puff, French choux pastry ball, sweet and most filled with the most decadent vanilla ice cream, topped off with a garnish of chocolate sauce, caramel, and a dusting of powdered sugar—that melts in her mouth in a flurry of sweet flavors. And of course, Nicole just had to get her biscotti. She couldn’t do without it.

Once they are full, satisfied with breakfast and Waverly is still raving about the profiteroles long after Robin had come and disposed of their plates, comes time for the check. Immediately, as soon as the check was placed on the table, Nicole takes it, barely spares it a glance before handing over her credit card.

Part of Waverly doesn’t even want to know how much their meal was, but the other part, as strong as it tends to be during times like these, always curious, does.

“Nicole?” She starts, but the alpha already knows.

“One hundred thirty-nine dollars.”

Waverly chokes on her own saliva and then, to add more fuel to the fire, asks: “With tax and tip?”

Nicole looks up from her phone and smiles, finding the brunette’s naivety and softness so irrevocably cute and endearing. “With tax, but without the tip.”

Robin returns and the older woman, flips her wallet open and casually hands over _three_ twenty-dollar bills.

The beta is speechless, pale face going red within seconds as he just stares at the sixty-dollar tip now sitting on the table like mana from God.

Waverly herself is flabbergasted to see what would amount to a month’s worth of tips all at once. Robin stutters through a thank you, but Nicole shakes her head. Placing a reassuring hand to the man’s shoulder, wanting him to think nothing of it, before stepping away to leave. Pulling Waverly with her.

They return to the Lamborghini, a smug smile crossing the alpha’s lips when they find a group of people taking pictures with the luxury vehicle. Just regular college students with University of Calgary sweatshirts, young adults with lives ahead of them, heads full of dreams and wishes—being close proximity to the half a million-dollar car is like a passing thought made true. The alpha doesn’t mind and stalls for an extra minute, pretending to be busy on her phone but Waverly knows; of all the things the auburn-haired woman could be doing, playing a simple game of Blackjack isn’t all that important.

Once the group of students are gone, busy raving over the car and all the selfies they took with it, Nicole unlocks the car. Waverly having to step back and let the doors rise into the air before she’s able to get in (she totally won’t ever be able to get over that). Settling in, Waverly puts on her seatbelt while Nicole pulls out her driving gloves.

“Do you always do that?” She asks. “Tip that big?”

“Always.” Nicole says. “I’m not cheap, and I can afford to tip big if I’m already spending a lot of money on breakfast. Sixty, seventy, a hundred dollars—really, it’s not a big deal to me.”

Waverly nods her head.

“You know, if you think that was a lot of money, wait until I take you to Agent Provocateur.”

“W-What’s that? Some kind of store?”

“Something like that, but trust me, you’re going to like it.” Nicole smirks and the brunette swallows; what on earth did this woman have planned and why is the omega so sure she’s going to want to run once they arrive?

 

* * *

 

Lace. Velvet. Silk. Of all the places Waverly assumed Nicole would take, judging from how vague she was acting, a lingerie store was not one of them. Honestly, she immediately thought this was some sort of joke. The closest thing the omega had ever come to wearing, much less _buying_ lingerie, was heading to Victoria’s Secret and getting a pair of lacy underwear that was more decoration than anything remotely sexy. Yet, here they are, standing in front of Agent Provocateur. The storefront itself is completely made of glass held together with aluminum frames around each panel.

The store’s logo sits atop of the walkway cover in big, thick letters. Each one scripted and carefully carved out of stainless steel. The display windows feature mannequins in various positions of standing and sitting, all dressed in lingerie of various intricate styles. In these undoubtedly sexy designs that left little to the imagination—there’s one in the window wearing crotchless panties!

_Oh, for god’s sake please tell me we’re going next door to do Nicole’s taxes._

But as much as Waverly hoped and momentarily prayed for it to be, alas, she’s instead pushed towards the lingerie store. Involuntarily forcing herself to keep from dragging her feet, sure that Nicole wouldn’t be above throwing the woman over her shoulder.

The inside is a lot brighter and colorful, but more importantly it’s relatively empty save for the man behind the cash registers. Said man picking his head from the monitor in front and smiles warmly, rounding the corner and with arms wide and an extra bounce in his step he makes a beeline for Nicole. Dressed in a pair of tight leather pants, slip-ons, and a white shirt with mesh sleeves. He seems like a beta, maybe and omega, but Waverly catches the scent of an alpha.

But the most striking feature, is the mating bite displayed proudly on the side of his neck.

_“Mon chéri gingersnap!”_

At first, Nicole tries to hold up her hands, but is unable to counteract the salesman/familiar friend of hers from wrapping his arms around her into a tight bear hug. Almost lifting her off the floor.

But then he lets go, still smiling: “I haven’t seen you in forever, not since last year’s Oscar party.”

“We saw each other last week at Constance’s fashion show.”

“Honey, I’m gay. I don’t remember anything besides important events and Sarah Jessica Parker’s birthday.”

“Your designs were featured on all the models!”

“I was promised a catfight backstage between Beth and Bobo, but nothing happened, so it slipped my mind.”

Nicole sighs, “Christ, I don’t know how Ambrose puts up with you—and no, I don’t need you to tell me about your honeymoon, again.” She then points to Waverly. “Levi, this is Waverly, she’s my new subject for tomorrow’s exhibition and I need new outfits.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Waverly, I’m Levi Goutsis. And I can assure you, that I’ll make sure you are dressed to absolute perfection.” They shake hands, as delicate as the man looked (far removed from anything revolving around hard labor), are heavy and strong. Surprising Waverly. More so when he places a hand at the small of her back and gently pushes her towards a rack full of bras. Each one sporting a price tag that burns Waverly’s eyes just from glancing at them.

Unlike Mrs. McClain at Saks, Levi is another breed of forward. The first item the alpha pulls from the rack, is a provocative wired plunge bra crafted with black straps sweeping and crossing the cups, decorated with rows of miniature sparkling Swarovski gems and lined with sheer tulle for an invisible base and finally finishing up with a black satin bow and a small cluster of chains between the cups. It’s an absolutely gorgeous bra, but not really the omega’s style.

(There would be absolutely nothing covering her breasts save for a few flimsy straps.)

“How about this?” He asks, “Rubi Plunge Underwired Bra, perfect for that sexy domme look.”

“Uh, maybe we can try something different?” Maybe something that doesn’t cost $745.

Levi nods, putting the bra back and quietly singing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” slightly off-key, high-pitched, and with a little dance, which is really a shimmy of the shoulders before he’s pulling out another bra from the rack.

“Now this is from our Davinah Collection, which is nothing short of spectacular.” He says holding out in front of him an indulgently glamorous, meticulously crafted black plunge bra featuring underwired cups with a small, silk-covered padded cup overlaid with beautiful silk lace. Said lace sweeps below and above the cups to form a high apex, long-line shape, with a curved outline and delicate eyelash trim, bejeweled in tiny sparkling crystals. Topped off with a high-collared, detachable strap that fastens at the nap of her neck and sweeps down to the center, accented by a silken black bow; the ‘caged’ appearance conjuring plenty of allure with an exciting bondage-inspired aesthetic.

She’s instantly stunned by the pricey $845 tag. “I-It, uh, it looks nice.”

“Nice?” Levi exclaims, he then turns to Nicole behind them. “Oh, I love her. Can I keep her?”

“Focus Levi,” Nicole says.

He rolls his eyes, grinning playfully, “So possessive.”

“I think this one would work best if we completed the set,” He leads Waverly across the store towards the—oh hell fucking no, you can’t be serious—the _knickers_ section. The brunette’s face burns white hot and she feels faint, but Levi takes her there anyway.

“Now, now, don’t fret, I said I was going to make you feel sexy and I will. Levi Goutsis is no liar.”

“Except that time, you lied to Ambrose about blowing close to a thousand dollars sit in a skybox at a concert.” Nicole laughs.

“It was Celine Dion, you asshole. She’s an icon!” Levi barks his less than justifiable reason and Nicole smiles smugly, clearly having won. He then turns back to Waverly, prolonging their momentary feud. “Don’t listen to her, after all, what’s Celine Dion compared to, oh, I don’t know, _Fiona Apple!”_

“Oh, what the fuck ever, man.”

“Swear to god, I bet you watched ‘Criminal’ on repeat for hours, you moody bitch.”

“Unbelievable.”

They start to bicker over popstars from the nineties, while Levi continues to search through the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for; casually handing over a pair of black briefs made from silk lace with layers at both hips trimmed with a delicate black trim, topped off with tiny crystals and a black bow at the center front; ultimately creating a dramatic cutaway and continuing the bondage-inspired, caged-effect. Mainly drawing attention to the waist and hips. Worth $675.

But he doesn’t stop there; pulling the omega with him towards a section underneath a backlit sign meant for suspenders, corsets and basques. He then grabs a black, skirted suspender with a scalloped-edge hemline and a cage-style silhouette made from bold elasticated black satin-bound straps and flashes of rose gold tone hardware. The sparkly Swarovski crystals go without saying at this point. $675, as well.

“What do you think?” He asks, feeling proud that he’s knocked his goal out of the park. “Perfect, right?”

Waverly looks down at the items held out over her body; yes, the lingerie is beyond sexy and at $2000 in total, it should measure up and even surpass the amount of money it’s worth. But still, she can’t see it. Can’t believe that she’s even remotely alluring despite all the crystals and lace. She understands why people’s brain turn to mush at the first instance of satin, lacy underwear. It’s sexy, immediately ticking off everyone’s ‘what turns me on’ boxes. Lingerie is everybody’s thing. She’s guilty of becoming a mindless, drooling mess for a quick second when browsing Victoria’s Secret’s spring catalog. But it’s not the same.

She just can’t bring herself to be comfortable wearing something that showcases her body in such a revealing way. Not when she’s never been comfortable in her own skin, always dreaming and wishing on shooting stars for that extra bit of confidence that everyone else has but is seemingly missing from her own DNA.

“I-It looks great. Really, it does… but I, I just don’t—”

“Levi, isn’t there a thong a part of this collection?”

Waverly squeaks, she yelps like a small dog that got its tail accidentally stepped on. But it’s drowned out by the happy squeal Levi lets out.

“Yes, there is!” He claps his hands together, smiling brightly at Waverly. “Oh, honey, you are going to love it! I have saved many marriages with the right thong or two.”

“He prides himself on being a ‘love doctor,’ of sorts,” Nicole chimes in.

“Counseling helps couples reconcile their differences, lingerie helps them fall in love again.”

Nicole rolls her eyes and takes out her phone from her back pocket, turning around to head outside. Probably to talk on the phone with a business associate, Jeremy, or maybe even… her wife.

After spending, now, four days with the alpha, this is the one and only time that Waverly has come to even fully register the woman’s absence. The weight of it hanging over Nicole and herself like a phantom that still lingers along the edges of one’s peripheral vision; out of sight, out of mind, but never truly gone. And that’s good! More than good, it’s perfect! Beyond perfect because despite everything that has happened so far, and everything that will happen during the rest of today and tomorrow, they couldn’t forget Shae.

As Nicole’s wife, she’s unforgettable!

To be fair, Waverly is sure that the reason as to why the beta hadn’t mentioned at all throughout the week was done out of respect; she couldn’t imagine being a topic of conversation between the woman she’s married to and the one being paid to sleep with her—but that’s neither here nor there, and frankly, a can of worms the brunette doesn’t want to open. Nevertheless, cursed by her own inquisitive nature, she dares to tease the lid open.

“Hey Levi, how long have you known Nicole and Shae?” The omega asks.

“I met Nicole in college, but I’ve known Shae for a long time.” He replies, “Since high school in fact.”

“Oh okay. And, um, have they always been…good?” Waverly tries, but she can’t keep a steady face. And Levi knows, thankfully he doesn’t take offence to her wanting and trying to know more about them. That it comes from a place of concern and genuine curiosity.

Levi pauses; his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. “Despite the money, the family history and the expectation to follow in their parents’ footsteps, they’re just like the average married couple. Sure, they have their ups and downs, they argue and then they makeup.”

Waverly nods, shifting awkwardly from one for to the other as Levi continues grabbing different sets of bras and panties and holding them over the brunette’s form, assessing whether they’d fit her or not.

“I don’t support all their decisions, but I respect them enough to not stand in the way of them.” He explains, before hauling everything he’s found to the back of the store towards the cash register, setting everything down on the counter. “You know, maybe it’s just the romantic in me since I’m married to my mate, but I think they just need to weather the storm before getting to the end.”

The omega watches him scan every item, the monitor lighting up with different numbers. “What do you mean?”

“Shae and I knew my husband Ambrose in high school, and while we weren’t exactly enemies, we weren’t friends either. It wasn’t until we enrolled into the same Chemistry class at Toronto, that we started getting closer. Then fate made us lab partners for the entire year.” He can’t help the smile that graces his lips.

“Must’ve been a magical moment, wasn’t it?” But Levi shakes his head.

“You would think, considering how everything turned out, but we hated each other.” The alpha laughs. “I hated his work ethic, God, for such a smart man he was so lazy, still is. Whereas Ambrose thought I was too much of a hard ass and needed to relax.”

“So, what made you guys realize that you were destined to be together forever?”

“Kids.”

“Oh, so Ambrose got pregnant?”

“Not exactly,” Levi finishes ringing up the purchases and starts placing them into a thick white bag. “He’s a beta.”

Waverly furrows her brows, “Did you guys start talking about having children?”

The alpha shakes his head again, a large loving grin crosses his lips. “We saw them. It’s weird to say, even after all these years, shit, I thought I was hallucinating! But I was all by myself, on my way home waiting for the train and there she was: my little girl. Granted, she appeared to me as a teenager, but I _knew._ I fucking knew she was mine.”

“Your daughter, came to you like a ghost and that’s how you knew that you and Ambrose were mates?”

He nods. “I’m of the belief that there are bonds, so strong, that glimpses of the future can manifest themselves in order to ensure the pair stays the path so that one day, they’d become a reality. What better way to do this than in the form of children wanting to be born?”

Her palms start to sweat, she can’t breathe, and heart is beating rapidly against her chest. Waverly feels faint.

“I think they need time before realizing it,” he then puts a finger to his lips. “But don’t tell Nicole I said that, she can’t stand the idea of being mated to someone and I would hate to cause problems for them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waverly's Lingerie: [Rubi Plunge Underwired Bra](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/rubi-plunge-underwired-bra-black-and-nude), [Davinah Padded Plunge Underwired Bra](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/davinah-bra-black), [Davinah Brief Black](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/davinah-brief-black) and [ Davinah Suspender In Black](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/davinah-suspender-black).
> 
> \---
> 
> We're halfway done with Day 4.
> 
> \--
> 
>  **Next Time:** sexy photoshoot and smut (it's been 5 chapters since we had smut).
> 
>  
> 
> _HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!_


	14. Chapter 14

Waverly thought she had seen everything when she first arrived as Nicole’s mansion at Remus Pointe. Only to be completely and unfathomably mistaken. To be fair, she assumed the alpha owned a studio in the city; a rental space all to her own in the heart of the most luxurious neighborhood in all of Downtown Calgary, complete with a trove of loyal employees.

Which is why she is justifiably confused when the Lamborghini is pulled into a tiny brick and mortar building squished in between an off-campus high-rise belonging to the University of Calgary, and a J.P. Morgan Chase bank armed to the teeth with security.

The Parking Club, as is the name of the garage, doesn’t seem all that eye-catching.

That is until she learns the simple building is in fact a multi-storied parking garage full of expensive cars like something out of a billionaire’s wet dream. Big and bright, the dark Lamborghini and its midnight black matte paint job is undoubtedly dwarfed and out of place in between a massive sun yellow Hummer, and a candy blue-colored Escalade.

Thankfully, there is enough space in between both cars on either side for the doors to open, allowing to them to get out without having to comically squeeze they’re way out.

Outside she realizes The Parking Club’s exterior design is all a ruse, a sort of inside joke. If only she could think the same about what lies in front of her.

“Jesus Christ…you rent an apartment, here?” Waverly asks, staring dumbly up at the bronze colored building.

“Technically, it’s a penthouse—and I own it.” Nicole says before quickly adding, “But I rent my parking space!”

Either way the alpha spins it, it doesn’t negate from the colossus of a tower before them.

Walker Tower; built in 1929, the 24-story monolithic building made of stucco, concrete, terracotta and smooth-faced stone, enhanced by the use of steel and glass, is an absolute marvel to behold. The art deco visual design style instills a sophisticated sense of glamour and exuberance, while paying a fanciful homage to the advancement of technology at the time; carefully constructed in these sharp geometric shapes that pierce the sky when looking up from the ground floor. A concrete-encased, heavy-steel framed building with floor slabs designed to carry of up to 100 pounds per square foot.

Beyond the fantastical shapes and all the hard, rigid materials used to make this gorgeous structure, it’s usage of bronze to create sleek citadel to be the gem of any city. Rising high above the Calgary skyline, Waverly remembers the tower getting an honorable mention in her tenth-grade global history class during their unit on the Industrial Revolution; as a strong fortress to house one of the city’s telecommunication nerve centers. From the sheer magnitude of the structure, Waverly could easily imagine the tower bearing an impregnable steel vault, a fleet of armored vehicles or a small nation’s store of gold bullion somewhere within its walls.

Inside, the walkway floor is a dark obsidian lined in white, the walls are painted in a pleasing shade of gothic gold, the alabaster pillars meticulously scattered around are pristine and impeccable, not a single crack to be seen and most of all: it’s the delicate, but knowingly dominate usage of bronze everywhere that attracts the eye faultlessly. Conjuring up images of an earthlier, human version of the pearly gates of heaven.

Even the lobby floors right in front of the elevators and the front desk—there is and actual man, being paid quite handsomely to stand behind the front desk and be in the presence of wealthy millionaires to genuinely take the job as seriously as can be—the floor and all its intricate geometrically perfect symmetry tells her this is it, you’ve made it to the top of the ladder.

“Lovely day today isn’t it, Miss Haught?” The man at the front desk greets with a smile.

“Can’t complain, Charlie.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders. “Did the mailman come yet?”

The man, named Charlie (who is incredibly young and looks like he could very well belong on a television show than spend his day being some business tycoon’s bellboy) points his thumb behind him as Nicole signs her name on the dotted line of the sign-in sheet. “Yeah, came by a few hours ago.”

“Perfect—” she then turns back to Waverly “—just give me a second.”

Waverly nods her head and while the alpha heads towards the mailroom, and Charlie suddenly gets a call on the desk phone, the brunette grabs a pamphlet from the pile sitting in a small bin.

Sitting on the soft velvet loveseat positioned around a large marble table on metal legs that is supposed to make up the lounge area, she flips the dark gray pamphlet open and underneath the gold letters of Walker Tower are a list of things that detail the reasons why the building is the best in the city. Besides the tower being branded as an architectural wonder, several pages are dedicated to highlighting the apartments and their amenities. From the ceiling heights of 10 to nearly 14 feet, the custom French herringbone beveled oak flooring, and the custom tilt and turn windows, who in the right mind would daresay they wouldn’t want to live here? The sample floor plans shown indicate that more than half of the residences have private outdoor space.

But it doesn’t stop there. Hydronic radiant floor heating systems throughout each residence, wood-burning fireplaces with solid marble enclosures in select residences, custom lighting packages, state-of-the-art home automation systems adorned with 9-inch touchscreen displays, an iPad dock with full lighting control, HVAC control, distributed audio, electronic shade control, and full expansion capabilities for customized applications. Solid 8-feet tall paneled stained oak doors, premium ultra-quiet fan coil air conditioning systems with central chiller plant and built-in humidification system throughout each residence; made easier by a building wide ventilation system distributing balanced outside air to each apartment.

And no one can forget about each residence being home to full size washers and dryers (the two single things that would instantly drive up the value of the average everyman apartment, this she knows), kitchen and dryer exhaust vented directly to outside air, linear diffusers and flowbars throughout each unit. Every residence is already fully pre-wired for high speed internet, phone and wireless data.

Feeling her fingers starting to burn, Waverly skips through the pamphlet, making note of the list of amenities and services Walker Tower has to offer. There is a 24-hour attended lobby, lobby concierge, a landscaped common roof deck with a dining area, sun lawn, observation area, and a covered cabana room with built-in seating. A fully equipped fitness center, yoga room, sauna, steam room and even a children’s playroom. A library lounge with pantry and bar that is available for private events by reservation. There’s even a bicycle storage room in the basement and refrigerated storage that supplies the dining room, pantry and bars.

Nicole returns with several envelopes stashed underneath her arm. Ushering her to the elevators where they stand with several other women. Forty-something-old, all in expensive cashmere pastel-colored tunics, soft capri pants, pearl necklaces hanging from their necks and the (unbelievably strong) smell of Chanel perfume that has Waverly scrunching up her nose in irritation.

Or at least without trying to draw too much attention to herself.

Unlike the gaggle of loudmouthed white-haired old ladies that Purgatory tends to be homed to, these women are quiet with only two addressing each other with a soft tone of voice as they carry on a conversation about the latest book sweeping their little circle called _Goodbye Baby_ or something equally depressing. The conversation isn’t anything interesting enough to warrant Waverly lending an ear to listen to, but it’s cute to imagine these women gathered around someone’s living room and having a book club with cookies and tea.

That is until the elevator doors open and they all file inside and the topic of discussion shifts.

“Did you hear about that couple from the thirteenth floor?” One of the women asked. “Got caught having sex in one of the elevators.”

“For god’s sake, you would think some people would have the common decency to keep their sexual practices behind closed doors.” Waverly blinks, suddenly feeling awkward. “I mean honestly, the elevator? Could have been this one for all we know. The walls are thick for a reason.”

“Is that the couple with the tall omega with the big blue eyes?”

“No, no, that’s the couple with the four-year-old.” The woman shakes her head. “The couple in the elevator were the ones that held that party in the lounge on Canada Day; made a mess of everything and didn’t even bother to clean up.”

Waverly raises an eyebrow.

“How distasteful! And security didn’t do anything? Jesus H. Christ, next thing we know there’s going to be a porn studio in one of the penthouses at this rate.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time; this is the kind of thing the owners of the building need to be aware of.” Clearly, the woman with the big white sunhat has quite a few opinions. “It’s an absolute shame that money is just handed out to whatever riff-raff on the street without actually earning anything nowadays.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

“Didn’t you read The Post? There are people making millions of dollars just from playing video games!”

Just then one of the women, dark-haired with soft brown eyes, looks over at them, makes eye contact, and smiles the gentlest, shyest smile she can, then she ducks her head in slight embarrassment of her friend’s abrasive words. Waverly gives a small smile before looking to Nicole, who looks bored and exasperated.

Thankfully, the elevator doors open on the tenth floor and the women take their leave. Filing out one right after the other, the elevator doors close and Nicole breathes a sigh of relief. Not one for listening, much less eavesdropping on a group of gossiping hens, Waverly can only imagine what it must be like living here full time.

Or as full as Nicole does.

“Mrs. Hefflewhite is a special case,” Nicole says. “Everyone’s personal life is up for grabs, but god forbid you say anything bad about hers. The woman is practically half vulture.”

Waverly can relate, Purgatory’s got its own vultures too.

“I get it, back home Mrs. Tattenhill is the town gossip. Nothing gets passed her.”

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. The people she usually talks about tend to give her ammunition anyways.”

“Well, for once we are going to give people a reason to talk about you,” the alpha grins, “Nothing but high praise and adulation, I assure you on that.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Instinct, mostly.”

Nicole doesn’t say anything else as the elevator continues going up. The numbers seem to blur together after a while until they finally reach the twenty-fourth floor, the top floor and where Nicole’s penthouse is located.

The doors open to a long hallway with stone walls covered in various framed photos of Calgary and a thick carpeted floor.

Waverly is lead down the hallway and the doors on either side are incredibly massive. Each one marked by the floor number and a letter—this is where the top floor penthouses are located, and she can feel the rich air filtering through the ceiling vents. Hell, the door knobs themselves look to be worth more than her precious jeep.

Honestly, why would there be such high-end security in a building where most of the residents prefer to live their lives isolated from everyone else around them? But upon entering the alpha’s penthouse, she finally understands why there is such an emphasis on protecting one’s own privacy.

The foyer is painted in a coppery metallic color, to the left is a staircase with metal mesh sides and a thick railing leading to what can only be the second level and the roof. Nicole closes the door behind them, locks it and sets up the security system that rings to life with a _ding_ sound.

Moving further, the living room is painted in a soft white dove color, dark designer end tables on sturdy engineered wooden frames positioned on either side of a two-piece sectional sofa made for flexible style, luxurious comfort and polyester upholstery with clean and simple lines atop a black iron base; with a matching light gray velvet midcentury armchair positioned at a ninety-degree angle with a button-tufted back, flared arms on a solid wooden frame with dark, gray washed legs splayed outward. All surrounding a large black marble table with beveled edges and corners with a polished finish. The right wall is home to the fireplace in its white marble enclosure, above it is a large framed photo of a bear standing at the edge of a riverbanks.

On the left is a high-end designer, 80-inch TV stand with two convenient storage drawers on smooth metal slides and decorative open space made of black melamine with a truffle laminate finish. (Her father and Uncle Curtis would have a heart attack just from being within proximity of such a giant screen.) And the front end of the living room features large nine-feet tall and five-feet wide double paned windows. Beyond that, is an expansive balcony through a sliding door that separates the alpha from many of the other residents in the tower.

Waverly is left awestruck by the size of the living room, barely even noticing when Nicole takes off her jacket and leaves it inside of a hallway closet with a sliding door that melts into the walls of the foyer like in a James Bond movie.

“I know CEOs make a lot of money, more than I could ever imagine, but how much do you make?”

“You might faint if I tell you.” The alpha coming up behind her with a smug grin.

“Good point.”

“There are several other rooms, if you’d like to see?” Nicole asks and without missing a beat, Waverly replies with a yes.

The first room Nicole takes her to is the kitchen, right next door. Complete with dark espresso colored cabinets and satin nickel pull bars above marble and limestone countertops, a stainless-steel refrigerator with bold lines, stylish handles and state-of-the-art engineering with three drawers and digital displays; in between a well-designed extra-large microwave oven with smart sensor and a built-in ice maker and dispenser. A stainless-steel wide double wall oven featuring dampened hinges and a full-extension telescopic rack on one side of the counter, and on the other is an electric range with a wear resistant glass ceramic top, metal die-cast knobs all in a stainless black color.

“W-Wow,” Waverly breathes by way of surprise as Nicole takes a quick walk around.

“Haven’t really made much use of them, I’m not here all that often.” Nicole pulls a drawer open. “Still have no idea if I’ll ever use this warming drawer,” and then another, “or this sub-zero freezing one.”

“You don’t have parties up here? Like maybe you could cook for the guests or something?” The brunette asks, but Nicole shakes her head. “Do you at least cook for yourself?”

“You would think, but I’m mostly here to sleep whenever work at the office keeps me from going home at a decent hour, plus I’ve fashioned one of the rooms into my own personal photography studio. Makes things a hell of a lot easier than renting out a space.” Nicole shrugs her shoulders before pulling Waverly towards the next room.

“C’mon we still have a few more rooms on the tour.”

Separated from the kitchen by a single wall (with two open entrances on either side connected directly to the kitchen for quick movement between both rooms) is the dining room. Much like the other rooms, the dining room is exceedingly large and can fit twelve guests around a dining table crafted entirely from solid rubberwood; finished in a rich cognac color with subtle red undertones that bring out a sliver of warmth from an otherwise cold room painted with navy blue walls. The table itself is surrounded by twelve vintage blue bonded leather chairs with tall backs and embellished with visibly tight stitching while seated atop lightly distressed solid Birch wood brown legs.

“The previous owner had an affinity for throwing large parties, constantly had guests over.” The alpha explains, “Closest I’ve ever had to having a party was when my mom and Shae decided to throw me a surprise birthday party when I was twenty-one.”

“That was sweet of them, did you have fun?” Waverly asks, sensing the older woman’s discomfort.

“I did, for the most part, until my father took it upon himself to start networking with some colleagues he invited and roped me into doing the same.” Nicole sighs, fingers running over the surface of the edge of one of the chairs.

“At your own birthday?”

“At your own birthday party?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” Nicole nods her head and gives a small smile. “No big deal.”

The home gym is what follows next on the penthouse tour. Nicole turns on the light and beneath them is a thick gray carpeted floor, matched by the lighter cinder block-colored walls. In the middle of the gym is a set of exercise equipment lined up side by side. Closest to them is a treadmill built with a digital display with 24 different preset workouts, in the middle is an indoor rower with a multilevel computer able to monitor different data including heart rate and miles per hour, and on the other side is an elliptical trainer with personalized training options.

Along the walls are various strength training equipment, Waverly pays particular attention to the minimum number of pounds on the weights; from the dumbbells lined up neatly on a rack, to the kettlebells up against the wall from lightest to heaviest, to the plates stationed together on a metal stand, weighs less than 40 pounds at the least. The heaviest being 170. The alpha could easily throw Waverly over her shoulder without breaking a sweat.

The wall on the far side of the room has two carved out blocks with back lit lights along the bottom edge, and in inside of each space respectively sits a bronze Hindu statue. One houses a stunning six-feet-one-inch bronze statue of Vishnu holding a discus, conch fly whisk and a club with Hanuman and Garuda, standing beside him both in the anjali mudra or namaste hand position, encircling the lotus are the eight forms of Lakshmi, or Ashta Lakshmi, with gaja Lakshmi or elephant Lakshmi in the front; in the other, is a five-feet-five-inch tall bronze statue of another Hindu god in the form of Ganesh with his six arms outstretched, holding his broken tusk that had been used to write the Mahabharata epic, an ax, and elephant goad, a fly whisk, a noose, and finally a laddu, while a water vessel curled within his trunk.

“Hinduism?” Waverly asks stepping a little closer to Vishnu.

“During college I went to India for a couple of days, got to see all the sights but I didn’t stick around for as long as I wanted.” Nicole explains. “Wasn’t until years later that Jeremy sat me down for lunch and told me all he knew of the gods and goddesses. I was intrigued.”

“Have you ever gone back to India?”

“A few times.” _Mostly for work,_ she can hear the older woman say in the back of her head.

Next is the bar, designed in a way the omega is sure her sisters would definitely like. Unlike the other rooms, the bar is smaller, and more compact. Towards the wall is a navy-blue velvet sofa made with a contemporary touch, featuring an eye-catching striped back cushion, upon a dry wooden frame. In front are a pair of small black square tables with a wooden top and a black veneer finish. Surrounding the dark marble bar counter are several blue barstools with a rounded back that features a decorative zipper trim design, an adjustable swivel and a chrome footrest and base. Four two-door china cabinets provide the storage for the glassware, decorative accessories, special-occasion serveware and a treasure trove of different liquors while two full-length glass doors to display it all. Behind the bar is a large golden-framed mirror, beneath it is a sink and a small metal and chrome beer and wine refrigerators.

“I know the tour hasn’t been all that interesting,” Nicole says, but then she pulls Waverly out of the bar and towards another room. “But we’ll get there.”

Flicking the light on the first thing that comes into view in the new room are the detailed woodworking and intricate carvings and the rich cherry finish of the gaming table that belongs in a Las Vegas casino than someone’s apartment. The tray sitting in the middle holds the poker chips raging from five to five-thousand, clearly everyone who wants a seat at that table would need to play and bet big. The center of the room is dominated by the billiard table with its long steel legs that reach out from the middle, the rails have rubber cushions made from solid poplar wood wrapped in steel, the rail sights are also laser cut in a unique diamond pattern that allows the glow of titanium to show through. Up against the wall are the cut sticks, placed opposite of the two retro arcade games on the other side of the room: the recognizable black, pink and blue colors of Pac-Man, and beside it, only a decade later, are the black and white of Street Fighter. Both are on and Waverly can clearly see the logos dancing brightly on screen above the press start indicator. There are chairs placed around the game room with one next to a door that must lead to a closet full of other things—probably full of cute little board games. Which brings a small smile to Waverly’s lips at the mere thought of the alpha playing something as childish as Twister, Monopoly, or even Uno.

“So, this is your game room, your playroom that is meant for literally just that,” Waverly says. “Do you have a playroom like the one back at the mansion?”

Nicole shakes her head. “I could, there’s a room upstairs that’s just storage, especially since Walker Tower was specifically built and designed with eighteen-inch walls. Could easily have you screaming, and no one would hear.”

There’s a mischievous tilt in her tone and Waverly rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re a little too sure of that.”

“With good reason.” Nicole smirks, before ushering Waverly out. But while she’s quick to think that she’s being taken towards another room on the first floor, the auburn-haired alpha finally leads her upstairs. Where they end the tour, with a quiet gasp.

“Waverly Earp, welcome to my studio.”

The studio is massive, taking up the size of several rooms at once with a high ceiling and dark painted walls. Mounted on a heavy twelve-foot background support stand with three positive locking knobs and tubular legs with a sturdy four-piece crossbar is a seamless widestone white background paper. Smooth, fine-tooth, non-reflective surface that is heightened by the two seven-foot parabolic umbrella with a white interior, black backing and durable fiberglass ribs, positioned on either side.

Aided by the softboxes with reflective silver interiors and optional grids for light beam control, Waverly can only wonder if she’ll rise and shine beneath the lights or melt underneath them. Lined up along the walls are rolls of seamless paper, canvas, muslin and fabric backgrounds, tripods; monopods, supports, stands and mounts; shelves filled with various lens and photo accessories and camera flashes placed delicately in boxes full of foam padding; while on the bottom sits several photography bags and cases. In one corner is a modern office desk crafted in a white lacquer finish featuring a simplistic design, equipped with a s-design bookcase. On top are three 23-inch screens lined up next to each other, with a keyboard sitting beneath while in between a mouse and a currently closed laptop.

Waverly lets out a breath, “I-I just… Wow…”

“This is where the magic is made,” Nicole says proudly. “Most of it at least.”

The brunette is then handed the white bag full of lingerie and is pointed towards a door leading to the changing room. “There’s a mirror in there, change, put the lotion on, and take ten minutes to prepare yourself. Come out when you’re ready.”

“O-okay, uh, which—”

“You pick.”

And just like that, with a gentle push, Waverly is off to the changing room.

Compared to the one in Saks, this one is slightly smaller, more like a walk-in closet with just enough extra room for the omega to stretch out her arms in the middle of it and still have a substantial amount of space in between her fingertips and the walls. There is a rack of empty hangers, a wide column shoe shelf is mounted on the other side with expensive high heels in a variety of colors. Down the far end is a full-length mirror next to a small table full of various body products; Waverly wonders just how many people have stood in this same exact spot before her. Were they professional models with a long list of accomplishments and references on their resumes? Or were they just average and ordinary people Nicole plucked from obscurity off the street to star in her gallery and have their star brightened even if just for a night?

Did anything _else_ happen besides that?

Dipping into the bag Waverly pulls out the padded plunge underwire bra from the Davinah collection, considering it to be the tamest article of clothing compared to all the others Levi found to be ‘wonderfully perfect’. To think that she now actually owned a drawer full of skimpy, silk lingerie that would make anyone go mad for is a bit surreal. The heels themselves are sculptural and iconic, made of shiny black leather atop a 6-inch stiletto. Combining both timelessness with the vibrantly solid red bottom for unrivaled elegance.

The closest she had ever gotten to wearing anything this sexy were the more affordable versions of lingerie at Victoria Secret’s, where the addition of small bows along a lacey mesh waistband and some ruffles were advertised as jaw-droppingly sexy. Top of Form

Browsing through the variety of lotions and perfumes, Waverly makes do with the Bombshell titled ones for their fruity floral, purple passionfruit, Shangri-la peony and vanilla orchid mixed scent. The bottles themselves even make mention of being ‘seductive and alluring,’ meant to make anyone fall for you with a single sniff. _Nicole must like these scents if she purposely keeps them stocked._

Once she’s done moisturizing and applying the lotion and spritzing the perfume on, she stands in front of the mirror and takes in her appearance. Finally understanding why even the most sexually repressed of individuals turn into slobbering fools at the mere sight of lace covered skin.

She couldn’t imagine the full effect when at the store, helplessly watching Levi put different bras and panties over her form, but now, as next to completely naked as possible, wearing the lingerie, she knows. _Feels it._ The underwired, silk-covered padded cups cling to her breasts like a second layer of skin and the scattered Swarovski crystals glinting in the light of the overhead bulbs shroud her in a soft glow. The pumps add several more inches of height for that statuesque feel, because tall equals better (and she hates herself for believing that idea).

The accompanying matching black briefs and suspenders complete the look and with a small twirl, Waverly feels a little lighter. The dreadful small-town girl next door aesthetic is gone, buried beneath the veneer of someone who looks attractive and a thousand times more desirable. Part of her wishes she was still in regular contact with her old high school classmates just, so she could take a photo of herself and put it online for everyone to gawk and stare in amazement.

For Champ Hardy, of all people, to eat his heart out.

Outside Nicole is sitting on a stool behind a tripod, fiddling with the settings on a camera as Waverly walks out. The alpha is immediately alerted, ears twitching at the sound of her feels clicking against the meticulously cared for linoleum. Nicole tilts her head to the side and Waverly feels her legs wobble, knees knocking together in sudden blushing awkwardness. Nicole then places the camera on the tripod and stands, shaking her head. Waverly feels cold and exposed at the older woman’s dislike, stopping in her tracks immediately.

“Turn around, go back to the changing room and do it again.” Nicole says sternly.

Waverly blinks, but nods her head and does it anyway.

Only to return and have the alpha to send her back again. “One more time.”

“B-But why?”

“You’re walking wrong; you’re too nervous and that will bleed into the photo.”

She heads to the back and tries again, changing up her walk despite feeling like she’s still doing the same thing. It’s walking, how much of an art form is there for walking several feet? Honestly?

“Again, Waverly.”

She does this several times, before letting out an audible groan of frustration. “I can’t change the way I walk, it’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible, and don’t get huffy with me. Do it again.”

Waverly rolls her eyes and sucks her teeth as she turns on her heel and heads to the back again. But this time she doesn’t move from the entrance of the changing room, instead standing against the frame of the door way with her arms crossed. Nicole narrows her eyes, quirking a brow up when she tells the omega to come forward and is defiantly denied.

“Waverly… What are you doing? Come here.”

She shakes her head. “Not until you tell me what I need to be doing right.”

“ _That.”_

“What?”

“What is the textbook definition of the word defiance? Open resistance; bold disobedience.” Nicole says by of explanation like it was inherently obvious.

“Me telling you what to do or how to do something establishes a scenario in which I’m giving you a set of instructions to follow,” Nicole starts. “In order to be a rule breaker, you need to have the confidence to go against the grain; believe me all I wanted was for you to tell me ‘to fuck off and deal with it’.”

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, confidence is what brings people out of their shells, what makes winners and leaders; confidence is power. It’s sexy. It is an aphrodisiac once you’ve gotten a taste of it.”

“Just from _walking?”_ She gets swagger, she understands that, but she’s in heels! She’s wearing a pair of stiletto heels! How is she—

“You’re thinking too much, Waves.” Nicole exclaims. “Go back, and when you’re ready come out and don’t even think. Just don’t think.”

Waverly groans and heads back to the changing room. Rolling her eyes as she steps back into the changing room for what is the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. Her feet are starting to hurt, the soles of the stilettos digging into them, reminding her why she preferred wearing flats, sneakers and flip-flops. Much easier to wear instead of having to be vigilantly careful as to not break the delicate heel on a pair of irrevocably gorgeous and expensive pumps.

Nevertheless, the brunette paces back and forth in the changing room, counting to ten, until she takes a deep breath and walks out once more. Only to find the alpha looking bored, reminiscent of a bratty angsty teenager who’d rather be anywhere but here. Going as far as to suck her teeth, let out an annoyed sigh, and stare at the ceiling absently.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She hisses, glaring at the alpha who then sits up straighter. Suddenly starkly aware of the omega’s frustration and budding anger. “You have me walking up and down this damn studio for you and you’re not even paying attention? Seriously, Nicole?”

“No, no, this is great.” Nicole grins excitedly, “Turns out I need to get you mad for you have to be firm and stand your ground.”

“Is that even necessary?”

“Yes, it is. Don’t worry we’ll work on it, probably when you start wearing the thong.”

“What?”

“But that won’t be for a little while, okay? Now sit so we can get started.” If it weren’t for the puppy-dog look on the older woman’s face, Waverly probably would have punched her in the shoulder.

Waverly takes a seat on the stool and crosses her legs, startled when Nicole readjusts the height and she’s suddenly closer to the floor than before. Just to be brought back up a little higher.

Even with the slightest modicum of self-awareness Waverly knows, much like everyone else with an old post-modernistic view towards jobs and or having a career, that modeling is something of a—or at least considered to be—of an ‘idiot’s profession’. Idiot, in the sense, that the individual is using the least amount of brain power when working, which would make sense in the fact that there is generally little to no mental work when posing in front of a camera.

But sitting here on this stool in front of a massive a tripod holding an expensive camera with a massive lens attached to it is a lot more daunting than she would’ve thought.

Good god, there _is_ an art form to all of this!

I-Is, is she supposed to do something? She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, very business-like, and manufactured, kind of like those stock photos that are always too perfectly constructed. She feels herself go rigid, the muscles in her face shifting to form some sort of expression only a harebrained amateur or complete fool would form that has Nicole quietly chuckling to herself behind the camera.

Popping up, “I need you relaxed, okay? Loosen up a little and do the first thing that comes to your head. Five seconds.”

Taking a deep, full body breath, she counts to five. Once ready, she turns slightly to the left on the stool, almost sideways but not completely; her legs are still crossed over the other but not as tightly; arms folding across her stomach but high enough that they settle gently beneath her breasts, providing them an ample boost. Reminded of all the glamour shots of celebrities using their arms to accentuate their bosoms as the prime focus of the shot. Aided by a downward tilt of the head to the side, give more of a view to her good side (she assumes, who knows?), imagining that the shadows created by the curtain of her hair would add something to the photo. Waverly holds still for several seconds and soon, she hears the camera shutter. She then motions to move but Nicole tells her “no” in a very stern voice that keeps her in place like stone. Nicole instead moves around and points the camera, snapping more photos from different angles.

She doesn’t say a word as the alpha moves from spot to spot, standing and then crouching. More photos are snapped, and Waverly can feel the prickling sensation of disappointment worming its way in.

She looks up to see the older woman standing, looking down at the camera in her hands and cycling through the photos taken, each swipe of her thumb against the screen furthers the already deepening furrow of her brows. The tight-lipped frown on her lips pulling at Waverly as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap.

 _Am I really that bad?_ She thinks to herself.

It doesn’t take long for that voice in the back of her head to nag, _yes you are,_ with a weaselly voice. The alpha puts the camera down, against her hip, while she curls a finger beneath her nose; thinking deeply with her brows knitted together. She makes a noncommittal noise before walking over to the shelves and attaching a strap to the end; she then turns back around and picks up the tripod, tucking it underneath her arm.

“Come with me,” Nicole says, already halfway across the room towards the lone hallway on the side only to then veer sharply on her heel—“wait,”—and heading for the changing room. Only to come back out with the Agent Provocateur bag full of the lingerie she had bought. Hangars and all.

Waverly has no idea what’s going on but follows the alpha all the same out of the studio and down the lone hallway off to the side. “I-Is everything okay?” She asks, slightly breathless, trailing after Nicole while her eyes momentarily drift towards the walls on either side of them. The emptiness captivating her more than any of the framed photos and paintings hanging around the mansion; the cold navy-blue walls void of any warmth.

Nicole still doesn’t say anything and Waverly wonders if the sudden silence has anything to do with her horrible modeling skills. The reach the end of the corridor, Nicole steps aside and jerks her head towards the dark wooden door in front of them.

The first thing that captures Waverly’s attention are the windows; large crystal-clear floor to ceiling windows, glass impeccably strong and deceptively mesmerizing as her breath is stolen away by the Calgary skyline. Framed by the dark blue thermal curtains made of microfiber polyester blocking out the harsh vibrant rays of the sun, reducing energy and helping regulate room temperature for cold winter nights. In one corner of the room is a midnight black, left facing chaise lounge chair with a single armrest reveling in elegant, space age-inspired modern design with sleek, tailored lines and a plush trillium-filled cushion while remaining air atop slim, curvilinear legs in a brushed nickel finish.

At the foot of the lounge chair is a small black table, constructed with solid wooden legs and an attractive wood grain finish, a clean wood veneer finish on the top main surface that lends well to a traditional and cosmopolitan appeal.

Facing the windows is a thirteen-inch plush pillow top hybrid memory foam and spring California king-sized bed that features body forming layers of six-inch high-density comfort, along with additional support of pocketed coiled springs covered in a breathable soft-knitted white bamboo covering. Atop of a low-profile platform that has all the glitz and glam of regency style; sophisticated and an austere contemporary piece, featuring wire-brushed, solid mahogany wood stained in a black oak finish matching the joined headboard in the back, held up seamlessly by a stainless-steel base.

On either side is a two-drawer nightstand with functional smooth sliding drawers for out-of-sight storage with a convenient open shelf for added space; finished in a deep black laminate with stylish rectangular chrome-finished metal drawer pulls. Both are adorned with a metal table lamp, but one is home to an empty black faux leather multi-device charging station that is compatible with practically all personal media devices, while the other has two aesthetically pleasing white covered books stacked together. The one on top has a bookmark sticking out of the end, spine reading: Shadow and Light; Psychology in Modern Politics by Jim Miller.

“Is there a reason for the change in setting?” Waverly asks turning back towards Nicole, the alpha setting up the tripod at the corner of the bed. “l thought the studio was okay…”

“It was, but you looked out of your element, so I needed to do something different.”

Waverly raises a brow, “How different?”

“You’re still too nervous, I noticed you kept shaking and curling your shoulders inward when I was moving around with the camera.”

The brunette looks away, finding a spot on the oak floor suddenly very interesting. But Nicole pulls her back.

Daintily grabbing her hand and leading her to the bed, moving into position until Nicole closes the space between them and her presence forces the omega back. Lying flat on the bed, legs hanging off the edge, “Move back, further…” She murmurs softly, a fingertip trails down her thigh and the brunette molds her movements against it.

The alpha runs her hands over her body but doesn’t touch her, instead, there are several centimeters of space between their skin. She follows what the older woman wants in the quiet of the room, outstretching her arms like this and crossing her legs like that; letting herself be malleable and ultimately be shaped in whatever pleasing form suits Nicole’s needs. The lights are dimmed, the afternoon sun is slowly pulled behind the horizon and Waverly feels herself start to slip.

“What do you know of Shakespeare’s sonnets?” She asked.

“All one-hundred-fifty-four of them were published together in a 1609; yet there six additional ones he wrote and included in Romeo and Juliet, Henry V, and Love’s Labour’s Lost.”

“Not bad. Now, can you recite Sonnet 18, for me?” Nicole says, now satisfied with Waverly’s position.

“Sonnet 18, The Valentine’s Day Sonnet…” She begins before Nicole points to the windows. _Face forward, stay still, keep going until I say so._ She gulps and begins again.

“Sonnet 18, The Valentine’s Day Sonnet—Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

She hears the camera shutter, _click click._

“…Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, and often is his gold complexion dimmed; and every fair from fair sometime declines, by chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed…” Nicole puts the camera down, twirls her finger. Waverly flips over onto her stomach and lays her head against the soft duvet. “…But thy eternal summer not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade when in eternal lines to time thou grow’st…”

She bears her neck, shivering when she feels Nicole’s fingers hovering above the curve of her throat, “…So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Hair moved out of the way, Waverly can feel Nicole smiling above her. Impressed and proud.

She feels a layer of sweat shimmer to the surface of her skin, because, finally, she can see the older woman at work. Dutifully watching the master at work, in the zone and artfully adding each and every brush of paint to the canvas.

“Very good. I assume that you spent the majority of your younger years reading his works?” Nicole moves back around to crouch at the foot of the bed, camera lens laying on the edge. Waverly nods her head before staying completely still.

 _Click_. A quick rotation of the lens. _Click, click._

The camera is pulled away from Nicole’s face, the straps falling to the side. Waverly resumes, “While everyone was busy reading Twilight and The Hunger Games, I was already on my second read through of The Merchant of Venice.”

“Did that ever bother you?” Waverly raises a brow. “Being different from everyone else?”

“It did sometimes, couldn’t exactly relate to any of the other kids. They found English literature boring and I thought reality television was stupid, still do. But then I became a cheerleader in high school and everything changed.”

“You were finally somebody in their eyes.”

The brunette nods her head, running a hand through her hair to stave away any sudden, unwanted emotions. “It wasn’t much,” she said, biting her lip, “but at that moment it felt like everything.”

“What about now?”

“Now?” She asks.

“You were finally somebody in the eyes of your peers,” Nicole repeats, “do you still feel the same now, after all this time has passed?”

“Oh,” Waverly puts a finger to her chin. “I-I’ve never thought about that.” Have things changed completely to the point that she was no longer the same timid, shy, insecure long-haired teenager? Not in a million years. To her credit, yes, there are some aspects of her personality that have changed: she’s far more confident now, she can look back on cheerleading as a sport she enjoyed and not a stepping stone meant to thrust her up the social ladder. Hell, she isn’t the naïve fourteen-year-old who believed Champ’s every word when he said that he liked her for who she was. That he loved her.

“Sometimes I feel like I could be better,” the brunette continues.

Nicole nods and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, cycling through the photos taken. Deleting the ones, she didn’t like.

“I need you to change into another outfit, your choice, but put the thong on.”

Waverly takes a little more time than necessary to nod and get off the bed. Nicole points to the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. She grabs the white bag and brings it into the bathroom, still surprised at the size and grandeur: a freestanding bathtub with burnished, metallic finished cast iron feet off to one side, a steam shower towards the other with different detachable showerheads and a heated towel rack beside it.

“Come here please,” Nicole asks walking towards one side of the room with nothing but curtains.

Part of Waverly already knew what was going to happen, yet, she wanted to remain blissfully ignorant for as long as possible. Already standing in the middle of the room with next to nothing on, practically naked, she can’t believe what would come next. Apparently, the alpha was hellbent on pushing Waverly as far out of her comfort zone as possible. The curtains separated down the middle by the use of some mechanic she can’t see, not that she gives it a second thought when a glass sliding door is revealed, unlocked and opened. The terrace outside, the private balcony exclusive to not only the penthouse, but to the master bedroom alone.

“I need you to stand here,” Nicole steps out of the way and points to the doorway of the balcony. Waverly blinks in confusion, and disbelief; she would say _are you out of your mind?_ if she could and not sound like a madwoman. Instead, her jaw slackens, and the words die in her mouth. “The lighting from the sun will create the perfect shadow of your body from behind, almost like a silhouette.”

“Um… Is it really necessary for me to stand outside?”

Surely, the same effect can be recreated with resorting to near public embarrassment. Frat houses at Ghost River take to sending their pledges on streaking races around campus, at least the pledges ran off the belief and motivation that the ten minutes of abject humiliation were only to be reimbursed come next year when they could send the next young batch of hopefuls on their own naked path across the grounds. But to willingly stand outside in the lightest, tightest, imagination defying lingerie, just to be photographed for others to later see?

At least the pledges can take solace in forgetful minds and muddied memories, Waverly won’t have that luxury.

“No one will see you up here, trust me, they’d have to have a telescope or be in a helicopter at close enough range.” Nicole reassures her with a gently hand to her lower back. “I wouldn’t suggest this if I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

The omega isn’t so sure. The closest anyone’s ever gotten to seeing her in such an intimate way besides sex, is when her sisters completely forget the untold rules about _not_ barging into the bathroom while a person is showering for any number of asinine reasons. The amount of times she’s had to argue with them about privacy and their lack of consideration of it until she eventually just accepted it whenever Wynonna came busting through the door to ask her a question (that couldn’t have waited until later) or rant endlessly about something or another ( _definitely_ couldn’t have waited until later).

But here was Nicole, calmly reminding her that pushing against the boundaries of her comfort zone wasn’t as insanely taboo and out of bounds as she inherently assumed. Yet, if she really did feel unable to follow through with this, that she could just as easily say “no” and they would continue with the photoshoot as promised with no ill will sullying it. The alpha silently swearing up and down that Waverly had first and final say.

Nicole comes up fully behind her, clothed front to almost-naked back, but she doesn’t touch her. Still, Waverly doesn’t feel the alpha’s skin on her unless there’s a centimeter or two of fabric in between. Nicole bends down and instead of resting her chin on the brunette’s shoulder, she simply hovers above it; makes a noncommittal grunt somewhere between surprised intrigue and cool amusement. They stay frozen together like that for what seems like an eternity, neither moving or speaking to break the silence hanging in the air. The sun dances along the skyline, bright orange and yellow rays casting long shadows, even the passing plane soaring high above gets caught in the middle and its shadow drifts over them for the fewest seconds possible.

“Want to go back inside?” Nicole asks softly, murmuring against her ear. Barely even a whisper, but Waverly hears it all the same. She shakes her head, eyes tracing over the square lines of the TransCanada Tower in the distance.

“Do you want to go outside?” Waverly shakes her head once more, now tracing the transparent lines of Eighth Avenue Place building and watching the sunlight shimmer against its glass windows.

“That’s fine,” Nicole says, “We’ll move when you want to, okay?” Waverly starts to shift, a frantic tremor suddenly sparks through her veins with worried thoughts— _I’m wasting her time, I’m wasting her time, I’m wasting her time_ —until Nicole’s hands clamp down on her hips firmly and reposition her to the way they were before; comfortably secure and at peace with just standing straight and facing forward.

“There’s no need to rush, understand? We have all the time in the world and we will move at your pace.”

It’s a fairly simple reminder, her unwavering control over their time together and the ability to simply stop everything instantly by uttering a single word.

They stand there without moving a single muscle for what feels like forever, Nicole hands move from her hips and fold together in front of the brunette’s stomach, as her chin fully settles on Waverly’s shoulder—warmth radiates from the alpha’s body like a furnace—bodies pressed tightly together, keeping her close. Almost as if, at any moment, she’ll slip through her fingers like water. Makes the omega, with a curious tilt of the head, question what the alpha would do in such a situation; would she try to hold on as much as she can? Or would she quietly stand watch and let her go without a second thought? Is there any justification for thinking such a thing? Waverly sighs, biting the inside of her cheek in an effort to keep the unwanted thoughts at bay. She watches the clouds come into view, playing along the side of the Eighth Avenue building’s windows, creating disjoined shapes as they pass over into the shadows.

The sun begins its descent through the sky, and suddenly, by the sheer force of something she can’t readily explain or comprehend, she moves forward. Slipping out of Nicole’s arms, the alpha keeps a firm hand at her lower back, anchoring her against it.

Much like how she’s always imagined being up this high, the view is incredible. Mind blowing in such a fashion that she even entertains the idea of peering over the edge of the railing just to see the ground below. Her eyes narrow at the intensity, vision slightly swimming at how tiny everything is below her. People bustling in and out of view in a hurry, vehicles nothing but dots moving quickly as if on a race track. They don’t know she’s up there peering down at them, this must be what it feels like to be wealthy.

To be so powerful that she can afford the to stand high in her tower above the world, away from its problems and the messes it creates. Touching down on earth only whenever it suited her, not because she had to. The breeze is cold against her skin, goosebumps rising as she shivers. The only heat to be found is the tether linking her to the alpha, and even then, just for a single second, it disappears. The terrace shakes, the wood vinyl flooring beneath her feet falls away piece by piece until there’s nothing but air. Her lungs threaten to cave in and her throat swells up as she grips the railing with an iron grip. The ground shooting towards her at lightning speed and— _click, click_ —then it doesn’t….

Nicole’s hand is still touching her and she’s suddenly back up above, soaring with the clouds again. The older woman is smiling softly. Pleased.

“You did very well.”

A wave of relief washes over her, and Nicole brings her back inside. “We’ll do something simple now, nothing too demanding. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Nicole points to the chaise lounge and instructs her to sit while she heads back to the studio for something.

Waverly makes herself home (or as much as she’s able to) on the plush chair. She takes note that the midnight black color matches the rest of the bedroom’s décor. Compared to the mansion’s occasional splash of bright colors like whites, reds, blues and of course gold, from what she has seen of the penthouse, it is almost completely void of color. A shadow; shrouded in darkness if it weren’t for the lights illuminating the way.

Nicole did make mention of the penthouse being more a temporary home she only ever uses whenever the work at the office keeps her from going home at a decent hour. But how truthful is that, really? Despite having a net worth (20.4 billion, to be exact) that would easily allow her to buy out the entirety of a town as insignificant and out of the way as Purgatory, to buy her own slice of all that life has to offer, there’s nothing here that would suggest so. The colors are too dark, too muted, too _bleak;_ the only bright color to be found is on the lingerie Waverly is currently wearing, as little as there is of it.

She peers her head to get a better view of the nightstands on either side of the bed, empty of any framed photos. Just like the rest of the apartment, save for the one of a grizzly bear hanging in the living room. Doesn’t take a genius or a seasoned psychoanalyst to understand the lack of warmth is coming from a place of inner conflict and disillusion.

When Nicole returns, carrying a stripped blue silk robe slung over one arm, a bottle of chardonnay inside a bucket of ice with her right hand, two glasses are balanced between her fingers on her left hand, and a bundle of what appears to be strips of fabric over her shoulder. The atmosphere is different, there’s a slight misstep as Nicole comes closer, but it’s gone within a blink and the graceful alpha strolls towards her coolly.

There is a moment of appreciation as Waverly gets up from the lounge chair to marvel at the robe; irresistible, elegant ivory combining the ultimate luxury of pure, skin-caressing silk with a timeless, floor-sweeping design. Crafted with an open front which wraps around the body, featuring a detachable, matching silk sash belt embroidered with the letter H in golden lurex. Putting it on, Waverly feels the weight on her shoulders lessen, even wanting to twirl around in it.

The bucket is placed on the table beside the lounge chair. Nicole pulls the bottle out of its icy home and rips the silver foil covering its neck; Domain Leflaive Montrachet 1997, white and blisteringly sophisticated in taste as it is by scent and body.

“Can I ask how much the bottle is?”

“You can, but you’d probably faint if I told you.”

They clink their classes together in a quiet toast. “How much is it?”

“Seven-thousand-five-hundred euros,” Nicole grins, “or eleven-thousand-six-hundred-ninety-nine Canadian.”

 _Holy fucking shit!_ Waverly all but rolls her eyes in disbelief, more so that the alpha’s obvious amusement than the staggering price.

“Will you ever not be surprised at how much money I spend?”

Waverly shakes her head. “Probably not.”

Nicole shrugs her shoulders, “Fine by me, makes everything a bit more fun.”

“You know, I still am sorry about what happened.” Nicole says, followed by a _click._ “I should have said something sooner, preferably at the beginning.”

Waverly reassures her with a shake of the head, it’s all water under the bridge now. Or well, most of it. “It’s okay… I-I get why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone about it, it isn’t something you can easily bring up in a conversation.”

Nicole gives her a half smile, readjusting the lens. “Yeah, I guess.”

But the omega isn’t convinced; head down, body lying flat on the floor between them. A twinge of guilt worms its way into her chest for her actions yesterday, for giving Nicole the third degree and demonizing her. Refusing to give her the benefit of the doubt and at least try to understand things from her perspective. Instead of being swayed by emotions and shock, the way her father wanted.

“D-Does it ever get lonely?” Waverly asks softly, “Being where you are?”

Nicole stops messing with the camera. Standing up, her eyes are emotionless, and she stakes a rigid step forward. Aiming the camera and moving the lens. _Click. Click. Click._

“Face the window.” Waverly flinches at the coldness of her tone.

Waverly nods and does as she’s told.

There is another series of _click click click_ before she hears the alpha sigh.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes I wish I was like my sister and just run away,” The older woman says. “She never went through any of this. Got out the minute she smelled the first drops of blood in the water.”

“Do you still talk to her? To your siblings?” The brunette asks, not knowing much about them. Even with all her extensive research into their family.

“Uh, not-not as much as I would like, to be honest.” Nicole clears her throat. “Charlize tends to pop in and out of our lives whenever she sees fit, my brother Alexei doesn’t get along with our father, so he’s basically blacklisted from having contact with anyone unless Dad approves. The only one who’s been saved from having to deal with any of this shit is my younger brother, Evan, he’s in France.”

“Sounds like your father is, uh, difficult to deal with,” Waverly bites her bottom lips, “to put it lightly.”

“Trust me, he’s nothing compared to my grandfather, but he’s definitely a handful.”

The alpha then scratches the back of her head, “He cares, he just thinks his way is the best.”

Nicole then ushers Waverly to the bed, grabbing the rest of the blindfolds from the edge and pushing the quilts to the side, instructing her to take off the robe and lay down. Facing up. She sinks into the comfort of the bed sheets, the mattress molding against her body to the point that brunette almost sinks in. The firmness quietly lulling her to sleep.

“But at least you have a support system, your friends and your family,” Waverly tries for a smile. “ _Your wife._ I mean, I-I don’t know if I could ever be as understanding as her.”

“Yeah… this whole thing has been—it’s been tough on her since these contracts became a thing.”

There’s a pregnant pause hanging thickly in the air, enough for the sudden concern to pull Waverly up from the bed and stare with furrowed brows. She searches Nicole’s eyes for, really anything that would explain why her confident alpha was suddenly faltering. Another clearing of her throat and the bed dips, Nicole looming over her with a knee on the edge as she ties Waverly’s wrist to the headboard.

“We tried to handle things ourselves, at first, didn’t work.”

“What happened?” The brunette asks as Nicole throws a knee over her body and straddles her. Tying her other wrist to the headboard as well.

“Fear. At least I think it is, we never had any issues during my ruts.” There’s a quick smile and a small chuckle. “Hell, they were, uh, they were highly sought after…”

The smile disappears and is replaced by a tight-lipped frown. “But then the situation happened and now it’s like she’s never around whenever my rut comes. I understand when she’s unable to because of business trips, or prior commitments—coincidences, you know?”

Nicole slips off the bed and stands back and watches the marvel of an image Waverly has become on the bed, fingers working at pulling the cashmere sweater over her head, then the thin shirt underneath, but her eyes don’t stray from the brunette’s.

There is a fine art to movement. One a lot of people take for granted and Waverly has learned, with time, that there are certain things, certain movements and motions that can elicit a certain reaction; ought to be appreciated. The alpha knows she has Waverly’s undivided attention already. Toeing off her boots and undoing her belt, the buckle is left to hang loosely against her body while her jeans are popped open.

Waverly licks her lips.

A bolt of pain sparks at the crick in her neck, enough that she has to lay back and break eye contact. But that doesn’t deter the alpha in the slightest, if anything, it only spurs her on, the atmosphere shifting along with their change in dynamic. Waverly can feel the bed dip with the newly added weight, moving between her legs with all the quiet precision of snake slithering across a forest floor. A firm, yet smooth pair of hands brush against the skin of her ankles before being replaced by the soft material of the satin blindfolds tracing up her legs. Her body curving on the sheets on a shaky exhale as she feels hands skimming through and parting her knees just enough to suggest something… a bit unorthodox with their little boudoir photoshoot.

“Bound and somewhat helpless,” Waverly struggles against her restraints, “An all too perfect sight, luckily for me, I’ve got a camera right here.”

She can’t see it, but damn, she can feel the camera being aimed right at her and somehow, she feels even more vulnerable than before.

_Click. Click. Click._

Nicole’s honey-golden eyes burn holes into Waverly as she shifts, knees twitching to lock together despite the omega’s best efforts to keep them apart. Snorting in contempt at Waverly’s desire to go one way and it the other.

Waverly wonders if there is a part of the alpha that can withstand normalcy, something simple and predictable. Vanilla sex, if she were to be completely blunt. Or if this unconscious habit of establishing roles and needing to be the dominate partner is all the result of fulfilling some insecurity? She knows that on some level Nicole would willingly loosen up the reigns, it’s her alpha she can’t seem to get a tight grasp on. Imposing as it is welcoming, a strange and fascinating mix that sends her omega into a tailspin, Waverly can’t fully understand. For god’s sake Nicole has stopped moving and thoughts of her stroking herself suddenly crosses her mind like she’s some horny teenage virgin that still blushes at the mention of anything sexual.

A jingle of the belt buckle following a loud thwack against the floor and Waverly groans, unable to see her alpha bare. Even in such a state Nicole still commands an aura about her, strong and impenetrable. But malleable, flexible. Adaptable. Able to go with flow and change things up in a way that her extensive years of experience can vouch for.

Among this, is the unflinching ability to find amusement in Waverly’s impatience.

Damn purebred asshole prick.

“What’s wrong? Can’t seem to stay still, baby?” Nicole teases, the blindfold suddenly finding its way up her stomach.

“Crossing lines now, are we?”

“What’s there to cross if the lines have already been blurred?”

The blindfold moves upwards until Waverly can feel it against her cheek, the weight on the bed shifts and Nicole’s face comes into view. There’s a softness to the older woman’s face that ultimately contradicts the way those sharp eyes devour her, fingertips reaching out to brush over Waverly’s lips in the kindest of gestures.

“I want to bite your lip,” Nicole whispers.

But nothing comes from it. Instead, the blindfold is tied tightly behind Waverly’s head and her vision is no more. Darkened with only amorphous shapes and shadows to be see through the material.

Waverly closes her eyes with a quiet sigh, licking her lips in a bid to entice Nicole for a kiss. But the clever alpha doesn’t fall for the bait, tapping a fingertip against them, _you think you’re very slick, don’t you?_ She feels the older woman rise from the bed, her weight settling a bit heavy on Waverly’s lap as she straddles it before completely getting off.

She can’t tell where the woman is, her footsteps are too quiet to be heard easily. There is a quick _click_ of the camera before she suddenly hears something thud against the surface of the nightstand to her left.

Then, she gasps—her lips are freezing cold, each line and curve shaping them now frozen solid. She starts to squirm for a bit, because of the ice and amused smile she _knows_ Nicole is sporting.

There is a dry ache in her throat, this hollow yearn at the pit of her stomach wears a hole into the walls with every burn of her tightening muscles. She starts to sweat, the heat overtaking her body is all-consuming and for as much as she tries to withstand it, to the best of her abilities, she just can’t. Not when her molten lava surges through her veins, ravishing every single nerve ending and leaving a blazing hot trail in its wake.

Her fingers flex against the satin restraints, her eyes are still closed, head shifting around on the mattress enough to tousle her hair as Nicole presses the rapidly melting ice cube against her lips until their numb. The cube then slips over the curve of her chin and slides down her throat, ripping a snake-like hiss from deep within her chest.

And then a pair of sharp teeth, fangs and all, snatches it away with the forcefulness of a hungry predator snapping at a scavenger looking to usurp them. Nipping against the sensitive skin just above the valley between her breasts. Nicole’s hot breath brushes over them with heady want, goosebumps dot her skin and suddenly, the brunette is all too aware at how the underwire of the bra pushes her breasts up in such an obvious display.

“Feeling a little hot, baby?” Nicole asks, voice quiet but that cocky lilt is still evident. Waverly can’t see, can’t tell if it’s even there, but her mind’s eye knows for a fact that a smirk is dancing along her lips.

Waverly nods her head roughly, desperate for some relief. But true to fashion, Nicole refuses and another ice cube finds its place on her body again.

“I need to hear you say the magic word.”

That sing-songy tone will be the end of Waverly Earp; she knows the alpha is finding immense pleasure watching the expressions work themselves over her features as she shifts and writhes—she doesn’t hold her reactions back, doesn’t force herself still. The ice cube swiftly glides across her chest, slow and torturous as she maps out its intended destination, her nipples harden in anticipation. Yet, once again, she’s cut off; the ice cube is removed.

“Still won’t tell me what I want to hear?” Waverly shakes her head and several droplets hit against her very low on her stomach. Gasping when the water droplet drips even lower and disappears past the hemline of her thong.

Nicole lets out a disappointed sigh and Waverly can hear the petulant whine her omega responds with. She shakes her head, refusing to play the older woman’s game even if it was just to comply with her needy omega’s wants. Not so soon at least.

She needs to retain some semblance of dignity, of course.

Sitting up, Nicole readjusts her position (probably moving to relieve all the pressure currently placed on her knees), and drags Waverly’s hips over her lap, giving the older woman access to the whole run of the brunette’s body and keeping her back arched in a way that’s most pleasing to the eye; elevated, she touches less directly, choosing to then explore the full length of Waverly’s body—along the sides to see what points will make her shudder and twist, up the insides of her splayed arms, that glorious curve of her biceps straining against her skin and drifting lower to the underside of painfully neglected breasts, pushing a thumb over each nipple in turn—sadly, she doesn’t linger there for long.

Nicole is gentle, barely there, but Waverly feels every single one of them, and responds in earnest; shifting helplessly away from the constant change between hot and cold at her sides, arching into the stroke of featherlight pads of fingers over her nipples. A quick shuffling of something solid clinking against glass and a tight-lipped curse falls from Waverly’s lips. Nevertheless, for every _fuck,_ and _shit,_ and _oh dear god,_ Nicole doesn’t let up; swirling the rapidly melting ice in slow methodical circles along the edge of her areola.

The omega curls her legs around the alpha’s middle and pulls herself closer, whining once more when she feels the silk material of a pair of boxers, the image of a completely undressed and bare Nicole Haught is now ruined. The change in position brings the alpha to rest a little closer.

“Daring today, aren’t we?”

“Daddy…” Waverly begs.

No response, and she wants to scream. She’s wearing a hole in the bed with the amount of heat emanating from her body, there’s barely an inch or two of a layer between her back and the box-springs beneath. She’ll burn through them soon enough and hit the floor if Nicole didn’t touch her; something, anything, it doesn’t matter what.

She needs the older woman to touch her _now._ Her body comes to life like a livewire with bolts of electricity sparking through her limbs, tremors ring out under skin with enough force to buck Nicole off if she was a little stronger. But no. She holds a fraction of the alpha’s strength and even if her arms were free, what then? There’s not a chance in hell that she’d ever be able to flip Nicole over and assume the dominant role. Not when the alpha is hellbent on torturing her into oblivion.

Yet, by the stroke of some godforsaken miracle Nicole leans forward and peels away the boxers, Waverly can’t see anything but the sudden feeling of white-hot flesh, heavy and thick against her thigh more than makes up for it. Despite the urge to now slide her hand between their legs and curl around Nicole’s freed cock.

The tip is wet and the omega whimpers, “Daddy… I-I need you to…”

Waverly pulls against her restraints, biting her lip as she continues to struggle before huffing in defeat. Nicole moves, and Waverly suspects she’s getting off the bed with the bed dipping towards one direction, that is until she hears the shuffling of ice against glass again, followed by the solid heaviness of something weighing atop of her.

“What color?” She senses a hand being braced against the bed beside her head.

“Green.” Waverly answers without hesitation.

“Okay.”

A tap to her lips and she obediently parts her lips, an ice cube slips into her mouth without warning. But just as the ice starts to melt and the cold numbs the surface of her tongue, she feels Nicole’s lips slide over own. That slick, warm tongue working its way in to explore.

The ice melts away, that cold buffer freezing the inside of Waverly’s mouth withered away to nothing as the alpha takes over, eager to taste her and rip every wanton moan from her chest. One hand keeps her chin in place for every thought that crosses the alpha’s mind to ravish her lips until they’re red, hot, and swollen, while the other skims slightly bent knuckles through the limited space between them.

Nicole separates them, momentarily satisfied with her handiwork before moving lower down her body. Nipping against her jaw, the side of her throat and leaving a furious red hickey that blossoms into a purple bruise on her collarbone.

The weight on the bed shifts once again, but this time Waverly can feel Nicole move back onto her knees, but she isn’t as heavy. As though she’s balancing on the balls of her knees for a quick second before moving again. Suddenly, the weight disappears, but the bed dips on either side of her head. She tries to move to gauge what body part she can sense is on either side of her, but without the use of her arms she can’t.

Another tap to her lips and is met with an ice cube that has already withered down to nothing but a small shard tracing over her lips. Waverly doesn’t struggle this time; the cold doesn’t bother her. She’s used to it. The ice melts completely and she registers another tap against her lips, she opens her mouth expecting to be given another ice cube.

Instead, all she receives is heat searing her tender lips into life.

Thick, salty, and with a dash of vanilla; a bittersweet taste coats the tip of Waverly’s tongue and she feels a vibrant, vibrating sensation deep within her chest. Her jaw goes slack, sucking as much of Nicole in as the alpha will let. Nevertheless, she can sense the older woman’s abdomen jolt deliciously, cock throbbing in turn.

It is silent except for the obscene slick sound of suction and saliva, punctuated by Nicole’s heavy breathing. She curls her tongue back so the silky, sensitive underside brushes against every ridge, bobbing her head over the tip as much as her position will permit. Going as far to strain her neck just a bit to take in more, the tears smarting at the corners of her eyes be damned; she’s never had to perpetually unhinge her jaw. But there’s a first for everything…

There’s a pulse, a single, momentary pulse that pumps Nicole into her mouth and Waverly accepts, greedily swallowing the change in their roles. Sucking hard until Nicole’s slips away from her mouth an audible, taunting _pop._ She moves her, sensing the alpha is still near, and she manages several desperate licks to that little divot beneath the thick, wet head.

Nicole grunts, the tip of her cock ever so slightly only a hair’s breadth away, the heat radiating from her disappears and reappears within seconds and when Waverly squirms, she feels the edge of the older woman’s knuckles. She blushes at that; the image of her big strong alpha stroking herself so close to her lips, mouth hanging open and her honey-golden eyes closed shut in ecstasy. Followed by that one last guttural groan that makes her entire body shudder, right down to her core, deep and rough—

“No, no,” Nicole clears her throat catching her breath, “I think you’ve had enough fun for today, baby.”

“Daddy, _please…_ ” Waverly tries, but it falls on deaf ears. The bed dips one way, and Nicole is no longer anywhere near her.

“Good guess, but that isn’t the magic word I’m looking for.” Nicole makes a _tsking_ sound, patronizing in tone, and Waverly bites her lip.

Waverly tries at the restraints again for what feels like the umpteenth time today, and like every time she tried, she isn’t any closer to slipping free than the first time.

“Mmmm, I’m feeling a bit generous today, so I’ll give you one more try.” Waverly swallows. “And maybe I need to try a different tactic, as well.”

“Daddy?” Waverly asks. She hopes for a response, and after a few seconds of silence all she receives is a reassuring tap against her knee.

Nicole’s fingers trail over her legs and every so often there is a gentle rhythmic tap that keeps the omega stable, reminding her that she isn’t alone. That for all of the alpha’s teasing desire to push her to her limits, her words, while soft yet inexplicably firm, hold her together. Even on the precipice of falling off the edge and dropping, Nicole keeps her steady. Here.

The bed dips from the front of the bed and then Waverly’s legs are nudged open, the alpha sliding in between them.

Waverly hears the swirl of a glass and, predictably, she anticipates another ice cube. Prepares herself, unconsciously tightening her abdomen for the impending cold touching her skin. Nicole shifts and curls her arms underneath Waverly’s thighs, pulling her close and pushing her hands under the brunette’s hips, elevating her waist upwards into the air akin to an offering to a shrine. And true to the older woman’s unpredictable fashion, some of the chardonnay is dripped down her body. Goosebumps rising along the surface of her abdomen, the cold chilling her muscles with a strangled hiss.

Heightened only, by that clever tongue’s harrowingly languid swipe up her body, drinking in the chardonnay with such care that every inch of the wasted alcohol finds a renewed purpose. The omega rolls her hips wantonly, searching for contact right where she needs it. Mewling for a reprieve from the heat, the fire burning beneath her sweat, (and now) alcohol-slicked skin. Desperate—Waverly Earp is needy, desperate mess.

“Please Daddy, please,” she pants, throat dry and hollow.

“Do you want to call a color?” Nicole asks, and Waverly vehemently shakes her head. “Then tell me the magic word.”

Nicole’s voice is raspy and dark. Waverly doesn’t have to see to know the alpha’s pupils are blown open, hungry; she pushes her knee back to shove Nicole away in retaliation. And for a split second, Nicole slips in her control and is slightly pushed a few inches down the bed.

Of course, it doesn’t last too long, the alpha’s generosity waning quickly with a cocky little chuckle.

“What’s the magic word, baby?” Nicole murmurs as she settles back in between the brunette’s legs, leisurely leaving open-mouthed kisses along her thighs. “C’mon, it’s just one word. Think. Think for Daddy, baby.”

It’s a pressure she’s never felt before, this desire that forces her to try and fruitlessly clench her thighs to combat the maddening sensation. The flashfire pulling her down this hedonistic pit of squirming limbs. Gasping when an ice cube is dragged lazily across her folds, swirling around her clit in slow, devious circles.

“Fuck—oh god, _oh fuck_ ,” she moans. Body quivering at the sudden dip inside, instantly taking her breath away. Entering her wet core with a practiced ease that leaves Waverly curling her body into an all too familiar arch. Her walls stretching deliciously, fluttering around the lone digit and its entire length filling her with want.

The ice melts against her clit quickly with the blazing heat of Nicole’s mouth. Heart pounding, body twitching as Nicole wraps her lips hungrily around her clit and sucking furiously. A second joins the first, scissoring their way inside to get her nice and ready.

“Daddy, I-I need… I need you.”

Nicole pulls away.

Sliding up, Nicole buries her face beside Waverly’s. Leaving a trail of soft kisses against the brunette’s shoulders and neck, along her jawline and beneath her ear. “Baby, it’s want; the magic word is _want._ ”

“Want?” Waverly blinks.

“Everyone needs something, sex is a biological need for reproduction. But want, on the other, is a choice. A decision.” Nicole’s breath is hot against her ear, teeth nipping at her lobe, tongue slick against the shell. “There is more power in wanting something and saying that you want something.”

Nicole slots their hips together, cock heavy against her clit, flesh hot and hard as she bucks her hips. The underside rubbing against her the omega in a deliriously delicious way that summons up an array of colorful explosions sparking fireworks behind her eyes. The promise of more, the promise of finally reaching the end and having her desire fulfilled and satiated at the most primal level imaginable. Base and pure, animalistic in every sense of the word to just be fucked and ridden _hard._

With sweat crowning her head and a litany of desperate pants as she nears the edge of a cliff rapidly, barreling towards it a lightning speed without stopping. And she doesn’t want to—she doesn’t want to stop, at all.

The alpha nuzzles against the crook of the omega’s neck, hips rutting furiously. For whatever reason, there’s no condom in place, Nicole’s cock is grinding hard against her with no latex between them, just skin to skin. Whether the older woman didn’t have one, forgot it, or simply chose to continue the narrative of burying her under a wave of intense fire, Waverly doesn’t care. She’s at the edge already, dancing along the threshold, just wanting to jump and be free. But she can’t, wrapping her legs around the alpha’s waist, tears smarten at the corner of her eyes and she just… Just…

Dear god, she just fucking can’t.

_She can’t._

“Inside, I want you inside.”

A bolt of lightning connects them together and in a single strike, she’s undone.

Wholly, and completely, undone.

Nicole pulls out, groaning as she comes. Hot and thick on the omega’s stomach, alpha quietly growling in the corner at the waste.

“Recite for me, sonnet 116,” Nicole offers quietly, slowly rising from the bed.

Numbly, Waverly nods. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove…”

“…O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken…” Waverly continues, coming down from the high, “…Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom…”

Nicole brushes her fingers against Waverly’s cheek one more time. “…If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved…”

There isn’t a single sound and without feeling the alpha against her, front to front, Waverly feels nothing but unease. She can sense the alpha is still in the room and with the jostle of a belt buckle, she assumes the older woman to be getting dressed again. Alarm immediately floods her veins as she starts to fidget, worried that she may have done something against the alpha’s wishes. Was it something she said, or didn’t say? Do, or didn’t do? Waverly isn’t so sure, despite her omega patiently waiting at the foot of the bed.

But nothing happens and just as begins to believe that she’s been left alone in the silence of quiet room—like some dirty whore, rode hard and put away wet—she hears a sound: a doorbell ringing faintly from downstairs… Two rings and then, nothing at all…

Soon, Waverly feels the bed dipping, but only from the side beside her hip, like someone’s sitting there. Her chin is then cupped and gently pushed upwards.

“Here, drink a little of this,” Nicole says finally, tilting a glass towards the brunette’s lips; it’s orange juice. The tangy taste of it is sweet on her tongue, better than the slightly bitter chardonnay.

Only thing sweeter is the relief she feels when freed from the restraints.

Followed by the blindfold. “I ordered some food for us, okay? Nothing too fancy, just from a restaurant in the neighborhood, had Charlie send it up.”

Surprised, Waverly raises a brow in question. “A-Are we not… Are we done with the session?” She asks as Nicole massages her wrists.

“No, we’re taking a break—I’m calling yellow.”

“I-Is everything okay?” Waverly asks, concerned.

“Yeah, just need a little break is all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Day 4... 1 Day left in the contract... 2 chapters left...
> 
> _Happy New Year._


End file.
